The sun left a myriad blue in its wake.
A moment to gaze the
legacy of weepy Monsoons.
Grandmothers graze terraces,
moving between cloth lines,
and playground deprived children.
And babas honk and curse
to reach home
to bell jingling ammas
calling the attention of million gods
to thank them for the terrace,
the air,
and lights that swallow stars.
No comments:
Post a Comment