It started as a seed with a desire to cover the entire city.
Stray eyes of the sun;
Wishing new rainbows in the tearless eyes.
It is the beginning that will never meet the night fall
They were told.
Her blue eyes like sea dumpling, dancing on the crowd in the weekly bazaar.
Cities don’t grow, they just spawn.
Dirt and humiliation, sweat and passion,
Politics and power; the soul less creatures,
Hunting wet bed in the soggy day light.
Sun penetrating the sea and culling out only salt which pierces the pores.
Buses, trains, people rotting vegetables, undigested food; smelling dogs.
The wind is walking alone on the sandy beaches, faceless stanch of humanness
waiting to get drowned in the evening sea.
Lovers, hungry stomachs, hawkers and tired passengers returning home.
Earth takes a full circle to support the falling man
and his desire to corrupt the present.
It’s leaking like an old house in the torrential rains.
The city was never journeyed,
It is there in every pore like an old wound reminding its pleasures in the dream.
Lanes, streets, rail tracks, pavements where people sleep in the night,
raise children and die one day without leaving any trace of being here .
journey is so simple like a pendulum devising time. Being a part of it yet not it is, untouched, indecisive, complexed and coward.
Drying clothes, humming bird, crows, yelping dogs, signals and sun reflecting in the drained water, mosquitoes and people thrive together and germinate like seeds hoping to cover the whole city with their ability for hunting and hunger for more.
The city never journeyed. Everybody is a part of it
Yet not it is.