Exiled to Page
Exiled to four square page
From roads of comfort
That twist past buildings
piercing blue-white sky
that shade balloon sellers
with tricolour wares
standing before yellow-red
shops selling eggs on bread.
From tea shacks pouring
Mud-potions in smoky cups
sipped while watching water
from planters on windows
drip on man taking afternoon
nap on bundles of garbage
on iron cart resting
beside imposing mall.
From daring dogs crossing
the zebra and roadside
sculptures pointing at
party flags rustling
in footpath stores with
shoes advertised in hooks
beside which men fight
summer heat under tree
rising out of concrete.
From the curve of flyovers
which angle close to
skies to coo with pigeons
squabbling on electric lines
only to bend down again
to beggars who squat
on saffron towels with
the stone sage statue at
junction where hoardings
promote PUJA SALE.
From that quaint café
where we once bought
incense, inhaling sweat
and fumes from cigarette
and stove that burn omelettes
for lunch that hungry workers
slurp beside public toilets
where pink flowers scale
mottled pillar of petrol pump.
Exiled from myriad roles
of flaneur bus rider,
seat disputes reduce
to withdrawal signs
of masked delirium where
pencils brake before
metaphorical truck to
reminisce HORN OK PLEASE
and smog from automobile
pollute quarantined lines
of exiled rhyme.
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