(A dedication to my friend Bindu Babu)
I think I picked up a blister or two,
while walking down a road full of cars –
glaring headlights, blaring horns,
and penetrating eyes of a pimp.
Pretty faces, glowing bright blue and red,
under the neon signs of bazaar.
They seem to have come out of a daily soap –
the one where everyone has someone to love
and no one sleeps hungry.
The mild evening wind blows soothingly
upon my damp cold naked skin. Off-late,
light bulbs have developed a weak halo around them
or maybe I have just overused my glasses.
Later when the road will grow empty
and the dark night will no more be young,
then the wind will bring to life the hidden sounds-
the lullaby tune of the crickets’ song,
the humming of some beetles’ wings –
and I will hear them all around
like music coming out from the moist ground.