The skyline is punctuated with –
The red sun sunk under
the grey glare of the city’s
thick cloud (& smog)
appears to me like the sindoor
on a Bengali woman’s forehead
The skeletons of instant infrastructure;
rapidly rising box-homes,
reminding me of the city ’s enduring inhabitability.
The streets are being built in bits –
Sweeping its history to the fringes
Like the once-used chai cups
which resist rotting in drains --
melting into grime and urine.
The conversations (arguments) are loud
like the thundering of the 65,000 footsteps
that lead to tunnels of the grinding metro rail,
The stares are lewd like the men who ride them;
Their eyes cling to my skin like dust.
The city loves its muck
I carry the soot in my hair.
The red sun sunk under
the grey glare of the city’s
thick cloud (& smog)
appears to me like the sindoor
on a Bengali woman’s forehead
The skeletons of instant infrastructure;
rapidly rising box-homes,
reminding me of the city ’s enduring inhabitability.
The streets are being built in bits –
Sweeping its history to the fringes
Like the once-used chai cups
which resist rotting in drains --
melting into grime and urine.
The conversations (arguments) are loud
like the thundering of the 65,000 footsteps
that lead to tunnels of the grinding metro rail,
The stares are lewd like the men who ride them;
Their eyes cling to my skin like dust.
The city loves its muck
I carry the soot in my hair.
Really liked the images. The first stanza itself is so strong. I was drawn in because of the powerful uncanny image. And this continues throughout. "I carry the soot in my hair" stayed with me.
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