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Early morning fog
Of January
Turning into
Large droplets
Against
The windowpanes.
The fog swirls
Around trees,
On the roads,
Across the bridge,
Hazing headlights,
Slowing traffic.
The sound of
The brass bell
Of the
Prachin Bhairon Mandir
Rides
The fog.
The washed
And sanctified
Stone parikrama
Is cold against
The naked feet of
Men and women.
Homeless men
Huddled against
The huge stonewall
Of the temple
Breathe slowly
In their dirty blankets.
Here
They wait
For the
Early morning devotees
Who will
Offer them some food.
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