I am always looking for poetry,
Wafting down mountain paths lost over time.
The city comes with noise I fear to call my own
In its renditions are thoughts manifold,
Teeming with laughter, cafeteria blenders, horns, voices--
Solitary and crowded.
Buildings-- all blanketed with plumes of smoke.
So I fear to call city noise my own.
Tinkling glasses of wine and short dresses here
Are accompanied by bow-ties and credit cards.
Perhaps, I've got this wrong.
Perhaps, the steely mane of finance is not so cold.
I wish I could tell you
The moment I saw you reading a book on the couch
Let's go for a walk in the park.
There is no need for credit cards, dresses, bow-ties here.
I do not know you or the yellowing pages you hold
But I wish that in this fall evening so thick
With Delhi dust and cooling winds,
We could walk together, unknown, in the park.
Until dusk, or the end of the path.
"You" Delhi, refuse to walk in the park
Instead, you stubborn old fool, you douse yourself
In garish, fanciful cars, malls and
Artificial, cling film wrapped people.
Like dirt under the nail, you hide
That Chandni Chowk gramophone amidst tyres;
That man who walks daily to work
Just so he could buy grain for pigeons from saved money.
That funny man who resides in the book market
Drawing laughs outside and inside? Inside, who knows which city resides within him?
So in these people and places you call your "errors" Delhi,
I look for you. I look for your letters to me.
Whose words have been lost in your circular roads
And changing signboards.
"8 km to South City", "Turn right for Terminal 3"
Bright city lights and you Delhi. Oh my love,
You are blinded. Don't you see?
Don't you see?
Don't you see the debilitating death force suck the life out of the withering couple?
You cannot be happy about life while they giggle over the joys of wheelchairs.
And as the airplanes depart toward your grey skies Delhi
I shall immortalise that wheelchaired couple giggling on the runway.
I shall immortalise you Delhi, in my nails and teeth.
Wafting down mountain paths lost over time.
The city comes with noise I fear to call my own
In its renditions are thoughts manifold,
Teeming with laughter, cafeteria blenders, horns, voices--
Solitary and crowded.
Buildings-- all blanketed with plumes of smoke.
So I fear to call city noise my own.
Tinkling glasses of wine and short dresses here
Are accompanied by bow-ties and credit cards.
Perhaps, I've got this wrong.
Perhaps, the steely mane of finance is not so cold.
I wish I could tell you
The moment I saw you reading a book on the couch
Let's go for a walk in the park.
There is no need for credit cards, dresses, bow-ties here.
I do not know you or the yellowing pages you hold
But I wish that in this fall evening so thick
With Delhi dust and cooling winds,
We could walk together, unknown, in the park.
Until dusk, or the end of the path.
"You" Delhi, refuse to walk in the park
Instead, you stubborn old fool, you douse yourself
In garish, fanciful cars, malls and
Artificial, cling film wrapped people.
Like dirt under the nail, you hide
That Chandni Chowk gramophone amidst tyres;
That man who walks daily to work
Just so he could buy grain for pigeons from saved money.
That funny man who resides in the book market
Drawing laughs outside and inside? Inside, who knows which city resides within him?
So in these people and places you call your "errors" Delhi,
I look for you. I look for your letters to me.
Whose words have been lost in your circular roads
And changing signboards.
"8 km to South City", "Turn right for Terminal 3"
Bright city lights and you Delhi. Oh my love,
You are blinded. Don't you see?
Don't you see?
Don't you see the debilitating death force suck the life out of the withering couple?
You cannot be happy about life while they giggle over the joys of wheelchairs.
And as the airplanes depart toward your grey skies Delhi
I shall immortalise that wheelchaired couple giggling on the runway.
I shall immortalise you Delhi, in my nails and teeth.
