When you come home
From the desert city
The rise and fall
Of human voices
In the words
You grew up with
Have the feel of
Your favourite song.
Neighbours you have
Quarrelled with
Over kolams
Before the door
And leaving footwear
In the way
Look like angels
You could pour your heart out to.
For the first few days
All you do is talk
Talk and talk and talk
Drag your mother out
Just to walk
Through the streets
Full of people.
The fruit cart
With the vendor
Resting in the shade.
The flower girl
At her stall
Stringing jasmine buds.
The slow-moving traffic
Buses, cars, autos, bicycles
Jostling for space.
People, people, people
Faces, faces, faces
Smiles, frowns, anger
Whistles, shouts, claps
This symphony, this pageantry
Is what you cannot have
In the opulent, sand-blown, slave city
You pretend is heaven.
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