Cool
In an Asian urban sprawl starved of fresh oxygen
And coughing constantly due to passing fumes,
She arrives, at last,
As the breath of a gentle wind being wafted
Slowly via an open casement
Facing the choppy sea and caressing tired eyes,
Tear- stains dried up on the oval face
Of a child looking out for signs of a mother
Lost forever in a bomb-attack;
And the sweeping, lingering presence
Leaves everything touched with colors
And fully scented in her wake!
Few arrivals in life
Can manage such a natural act;
The spring
The woman
In a gasping household and a mega city.
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