Ode to Mumbai – 1 – Monster

A monster’s heart is beating it alive
This city’s stench and bile is still aglow.
And you and I are dregs of mindless dust
Just wafting thoughts that pass, and are forgot.

“City of Gold”, they say with silver eyes
Gold – for rich and poor and middle class
Gold – to film, to sing, to act, to sell.
Gold – beneath the monsoon’s weary roof
Gold – among forgotten shanty cracks
Gold – embalmed in casks of broken bones
Gold – still owed to prowling, hungry hawks
Who nest too high and cannot see the ground.

In this parade I find myself spectating
My bag chock-full of dreams and hopes in waiting.


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