The City at Dawn

7 04 2006

My cigarette tip has burned into nicotinous flames

And the morning is creping out with a blushy smile.

This is the best time for ‘crazy’ thoughts.

Thougts that breaks in like the dawn after a drunkards merry.

Back to senses, as people say.

In the darkness crushed by the neon lamps,

The footpath tredded by the tiring steps of prostitutes,

When the silent rickshaw drivers hopes for the next bread,

I am walking through this asphalt floor.

There are no odd hours for a metro.

For the galies flooded by poluted water is awake.

And their numbness makes the city agile,

As a bottle of rum for the dwellers,

As a shot of marijuana for the dopers

And as a cup of tea for the walkers.

The whores, they say, live up on the dirt.

But from which eternity did that come in.

At hours when the glossy life style pages,

Cannot be read in the foggy street lights,

And concrete jungles perspire after night’s intercourse, I

t is easy to sleep at the break of a dawn,

Avoiding the vision of paralysed and stinking streets.

The tonnes of sweatting vegetables in the mandi.

The fumes of cruising wheels.

Let us not awake at dawns,

Let us blame the vampires in galies who rob us in day light,

And let us make more metroes……….

But please, atleast allow them to crawl with their life in the filth.




One response

9 07 2008

nicely written..though lacks certain subtle touches which I usually find in your writings..

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