, ,

Waiting for the next cheapest bus
To the city centre;
A small stipend but a delusional mind
That thinks the bus is preference.

Lazy eyes,
Courtesy of India’s summer;
Bicycle key, a few coins,
And some illegal thoughts.

I get onto the bus.

Shake my head a little
To exit my power saver mode.
One needs all the power in the universe
When the bus conductor is Bengali.

I told you!
God, please, gift me with omniscience!
My eyes painfully contracted.

Then a wave of cold.

It’s a girl!
She translated,
Pointed me to a seat,
Then curved out a smile.

I’m still a little
Slow in the head.
Passenger’s Whispers 2, perhaps;
That album really conditions the mind.

Maybe Passenger is just a scapegoat,
But Words is really slow;
It makes me think backwards.

Anyway, the girl!
The bus..
No, wait,
The girl in the bus!

She looks like the masjid;
One mosque I have seen in Hyderabad.
Feel compelled to remove my shoes,
But I reason I should stay outside.

Mother taught me
Never to desecrate holy places.


Mecca Majid, Hyderabad, India