It would be around eight in the morning
Endless rain perhaps taking a brief rest
In her eyes a shadow of nice evening
In her gait past middle age well expressed

My eyes at the clouds I walk a bit slow
Her humming voice stops me for a short while
“Poori pakaibo Halwa pakaibo”
It is a refrain blended in a smile

The tongue is a dulcet ethnic Hindi
I will cook poori and halwa-- it said
Delicious dish for the olfactory
I look at the jasmines in her long braid

In spite of her soiled sari and lean look
Inside her she keeps the flow of her brook