Auto-rickshaw coughs,
a yellow-black beetle
jerking through
the Gurgaon-Delhi flyover’s
concrete gut.

Horn blast – cry! apathy! –
a quick jab
at the slow
bullock cart’s
ancient rhythm.

Her kurti shimmers,
a splash of kingfisher blue
against the dust-haze.
Varanasi silk whispers
past exhaust fumes.

No space here
for neat iambs.
Only the clatter,
the sudden stop,
the hawker’s cry:
“Abbey dhakka nahi de, chai garam hai!”

A crow on a wire,
black comma
puncturing the sky’s
pale wash.
Same bird, different
voltage.

she steps, soft
in cracked sidewalks
not avoiding the broken,
just noting it’s shape.

the tulips bloom behind her.
she wears them.
not literally,
but everyone says
they’ve never seen color like hers.

time is her rebellion.
a war waged in
choosing to watch
the clouds pass
instead of
fighting them.

she says,
“this is my favorite lane
in the world.”
it smells like damp brick,
old cities,
and coffee
from… nowhere in particular.

her suitcase doesn’t match.
she likes it that way.
there’s a patch sewn crooked,
a stubborn story
stitched in reverse.

She was told
she was a paradox
she said,
“you mean,
I’m alive?”

nothing here fits
Just right.
especially not
her longing.

but still
she packs it anyway.
Between
her linen dress,
a borrowed book,
and the courage
to be alone
on purpose.

the train arrives
just
when she’s ready
(or perhpas because
she is this time)

He makes the cymbals sing
with a crash, a splash, and a ring
nothing can stop him.

The gentlest violence
with sticks that emulate tones
sticks that don’t break bones

He is so focused
in tune
in-the-zone

I find it fascinating how he turns
what would make one flinch
into complete bliss

fire bore through the heart
of this painting undone
white shadows
followed brown
the green-tan frog’s home
music tore through the sails
fierce plena will come
nevermind the heat-
the rain will come
the time is now
Water droplets fried
Yellow drink like sun
Green bananas all around me
Orange sazon
Blue for fun
this painting is intact
And my dance continues
So does the song
The light went out-
Again
The white shadows fade to none

Man strolls down the sidewalk
Man has a frown stuck to his face. Man
Hears music up ahead
Man has a frown stuck to his face. Man
Walks over
Man is curious
Man has a frown stuck to his face.
Man sees mandolin player—