Chameli

Hot Delhi nights

Dipped in melting light.

The streets sweat dirt:

Brown saltskin;

An odour of fugacity.

Suffocating in the dust

Of its humming,

I be(e) through

Its combs.

Loop flight

Suddenly, a

Midnight angel

With tattered wings

And broken tongue

– a bridge world child –

Hands me a chameli.

It scents of

Tomorrow,

White,

Sweet,

Free,

Tomorrow.

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One thought on “Chameli

  1. Pingback: Deadpan Street « Triptychon

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