All Over The Grey Buildings,

the yellow-orange ones,

all over gloom dreaming.

In the evening,

in the square,

pigeons are picking on feed

in the buzz of the market.

The lanes of descending darkness

are broken by the whir of cars

and people walking past the shops

with the lights coming on;

the merchandise, the customers,

the tailoring shop, the bookshop,

the grocery stores, the saree shops,

the restaurants, the tea-sellers,

the vegetable sellers, the fruit sellers and

the flower-sellers outside the temple

calling out their wares

have now brought the moon down to Matunga.

 

The above poem is from my first book Reeling (2012).

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