the cuckoo still sings
over the traffic smoke,
children still carve
forts by the sea,

gulmohars still bloom
over the widening road,

you could still stir early,
jog through frozen silences,
travel for an hour, still
bathe under a waterfall,

walk up a ruined hill fort,
watch the falling of meteors,

you could still save yourself,  
here in this decay and filth,
you could dig up a little earth,
and ply a little ***** on it,

feed it like a little child,  
and make a tree out of it...