A street is a sight to behold!
At first glance, you may disagree.
For, it seems so cacophonous and befoul,
One may prefer to flee.
But once you beat ignorance,
Then you begin to see,
That the sight that just seemed awful!
Is now filling you with sheer glee.

The noise starts to fade,
And a certain music ascends,
And all the traffic starts dancing
To the beats of some indiscernible band!
And while you are being awestruck
By this momentous encounter,
If you pause, you’ll again, realize
that the grandeur of this show
Is greater than what you see.
For it is “The grand show of the street”
And every denizen of or visitor to
The city has been a part of it.
Every one of them, including you.

It starts in the morning,
With performances from
Chirpy children, sonant hawkers,
The devotees, the walkers
And the other morning birds.
Then slowly the vehicles enter
Adding their own tunes and rhythm.
The show reaches its first peak, just before noon
Then it steady descends but just does not goes numb.

Then as the evening approaches,
The music again rises,
The dance intensifies.
And the glamour of lights, adds
To the splendor of the show
And then slowly the music descends to null,
And the city takes a bow.

But the show does not end here,
For, it never does.
As the lights go dim
And the night departs,
The street is ready
For the next part.

One can be a critique,
and complain,
That street is a sad place,
Full of pain and disdain.
Or one may become an admirer
Of the everlasting spree
And enjoy this pure bliss,
That being a part of this show is.

Who am I?
Does anyone really know the right answer really?
Sigh!
For what I can say,
of all flesh and bones,
I wish to stand out
and yet I don't,
Or maybe I do
And I just don't know why.
But can't be overwhelmed,
For there is a long road to walk.

Identity is luggage
that we carry on our backs
through this walk
But it only grows,
never shrinks.

We can choose what to put in
for once,
but it's hard to let go off,
As for the ones who pass by, it's still your stuff.

Either it fragrances or it stinks,
Even if it's not your call
It defines you,
And your walk
For ones you love, for ones you hate
And for all.

But things do get lost sometimes
No matter, we like it or not
That is the way it is,
That is the way of this walk.

If standing out be the aim,
then the only way seems to be,
to collect the things that no one does.
Something that everyone may dread,
Or something that everyone loves.

But is that really standing out?
Or merely impressing!