pleasant walks through chaotic streets
clouded skies, greyish blue, kept you on your feet
little shops selling sweetmeats and a guilty pleasure,chai
abstractly stiched curtains swaying, a spirited dye
calling out ‘tamatar, bees rupiya’ in a twisted desi tone
temple bells ringing at the mark of dusk, well known
little girls in well groomed braids playing in groups
Women , after a tiring day, at twilight, selling fruits
little bazaars set up with items at a peasant’s price
small crowds of men, sitting down fo a game of dice
by the second, the atmosphere getting intense then
the Sunday church hymns joining along, amen.
ice cream vendor make an entry in a short while
children, upbeat and exuberant, in a single file
And then all of a sudden, everything going on comes to a pause
The sound of pitter patter, metaphorically, like an applause
and oh, the joy the young lads found in water puddles
the weather, a blessing from heaven, just right for pakora’s and cuddles
amusing antakshari and dumb charades, during the pour, to kill time
letting out the inbuilt, and golden talents , watching with a glass of soda and lime
and then, few anxious about upcoming tests, under a dim yellow street lamp
post rain smells bringing out the pluviophiles. Serenity found in places, most damp
and then starts the bhajans and soothing music from households, in sleep
the sound of the cricket most prominent, and the pellucid waters of the river, so deep
And, moonlight creating peculiar images on house floors
Inhabited by the purest souls, there wasnt a lock on the doors
The originality of the innocent spirits spread the good vibe
The childhood days to remember, on hearts , are inscribed
involved modern appliances or tech know how, none of that sort
visitors to climbing through the greenery filled hills to visit and old fort
perks of rains being holidays, pleasant weather and blooming burgundy flowers
water dripping into litlle yellow buckets from spacesin ceilings, hour by hour
All took a minute to appreciate the beauty of nature’s best
for india’s frenzied streets are tradition and culture’s crest .
~s.r
Soul of the third eye 