It's scalding
Souped up in a hanging *** in some far off veranda
Overseeing the noisy place it was an experiment
Arriving at the ruckus, the stranger looked at me
Spit at the ground, dusk's dustiness rose
Petrichor in my pin-up poster of India never seemed this incredibly serene
Leveling the looks with mine, the chaotic nostalgia reminded
Mirages in the air spoke beyond illusions that were an object of rumination
Arriving at the same destination in my book store, the freedom was real
The era was good, but, the biryani seemed tasteless
The bibulous raucous youth all gathered for the food
Majorities didn't like a big difference to us
We were ill-represented in the World too, and other similar instances
We'll not find a more familiar land where we can progress
Rejecting accusations and present in the excess of this universe
Freedom seems like too much responsibility