Tuesday, September 18, 2007

raindrops keep falling on my bed...

the dining
the sitting
the bedroom
the store room
all on the main street
the toilet at CST station
across the road ..
such is life of a woman
who has made
Mumbai her heavenly abode

in the nights
the stick -hits
of the cops
street walkers open their shops
the hijdas merging in the darkness
of bus stops
the pimps white clothes
touting their wares at paan shops
for the heroine of my poem
life is living amidst such backdrops
she a garbage collecting woman..
braving the monsoonal raindrops
recycling a garbage of unloving
on the mean street pawnshops
till one day the municipality hearse
will come to collect her as a corpse
no name just a tag.. till
another woman will soon
take her place
on the cobbled outcrops
among the nightly
commercial sweat shops..

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