palms not growing
the boulevard looks naked without shade-
see it’s not their fault really
they were not taught to grow upwards and spread their branches
they were not taught the art of
giving someone shade
from the brutal summer heat
this schroching sun
on our side of the world
was not taught to be merciful
to be mellow
and kind
42 degrees in the shade
is its middle ground
we improvise
apologise for what the sun doesn’t do
sattu and gaane ka rus
to quench this thirst
that stings and burns
umbrellas sell well
all colors, all sizes, all things Chinese
brothers in our sufferings
neon light nights
heat trickling down the backs
walking barefoot
sometimes an odd faqeer
crosses the road
unawares of the dystopia
that over crowds the boulevards
he Hope’s to die maybe
on a perspiring night
caught between the snares
tyres and tiredness
the child sticks a deflated ball
along the sidewalk
chewing on leftover shuarma
and a coke without its fizz
which went with the one who
paid for it
somewhere
an odd train
passes
across a track
may 2018