the trams rush by

and people crawl away

the crowded streets

feel suffocated

a blast of smoke

erupts from a bike’s rear end

and the dried leaves 

licking dust

slither away

under the scorching sun

a desolate urchin 

bored of neglect 

huddles at the corner

finds a glob of spittle 

catch his interest and

draws fish in it with a twig

as though it were 

a blob of oil paint

while he idles away

a forlorn pup advances

on the piece of bread

in the urchin’s 

crooked blackened bowl

licks it, once, twice

grabs it in his muzzle

and swallows it whole

stranded I stand

frayed by a hassled demeanor

the heart whispers

“How are you today?”

Dear you, I was never better

I say.


Asha Seth