Sometimes it's best to turn
on a new leaf
and forget the old. I look out
at the frantic city to see it
all mellowing in rain and mist.
This seems like a
bottle of cold drinks, so I
take your hand
and we go out drenching in the rain.

Together we hit the street
as if we know
how to side-step
the black sooty liquid
beneath our feet.
(It's all in knowing how!)
For, the city gets
squalid in monsoon.

We're at peace: blissfully
happy to be able to discover
each other and the city. Pour
a little more for us
and the city that spread out
like a gypsy woman
who belong.
Everything else is lost
in the swirl of a
teeming masquerade.

Let us not ruin this moment
by talking about
how graceful we were
when basking in the sunlight
at midday,
or dark wintry afternoons
racing around trees
like butterflies.

It takes so little to go out,
get drenched,
and so many false notes
descending like crows
from bleak rooftops
onto a garbage dump
reeking of stench.

.    .    .