|
The city hums beneath the rising day,
Each street a stage where masks are cast aside.
The throngs perform their roles in bright array,
And truth emerges where the shadows hide.
She walks no more where mortal eyes can see,
Yet every sound recalls her tender grace.
Her rhythm lingers in the melody,
A ghostly pulse that haunts this crowded place.
The rickshaw's rattle hums her secret tune,
The lamps repeat the stillness of her gaze.
I write not now for loss or shattered boon,
But shape her fire in verse the silence plays.
Through Mumbai's din her hidden soul remains,
A voice of flame that flows in living veins. |
