The rain falls softly on the sleeping city…. Cloaked in the blanket of a monsoon lull…. A few stray dogs scamper for shelter as the first storm of the season colours the dawn a deeper crimson…..
The thunder rumbles from the north east…a deep slow sonorous sound coming from the underbellies of the moisture laden atmosphere…..
The soft drizzle forms a hazy blanket of morning mist around the city…..already stirring with the first signs of life…. The resurrection of the everyday work-a-day world…….
The musical tinkling of a bell echoes around as a pushcart brimming with flowers rushes down the street, hurrying to the market…fresh, preened and ready…to be sold to the highest bidder…
The soft music of the approaching storm inspires a boatman, out on the holy river, to sing…… his voice echoes over the bass of the thunder……a plaintive pleasant humming……the nuances of the bhatiali fill up the empty cracks in the morning……
The rain deepens…………the drizzle expands into the monsoons first downpour… pitter-patter sings the rain, reverberating off a thousand tin roofs……the sky darkens……enveloping the dawn in its grey being…..
Somewhere, someone tunes a harmonium…..clears a throat…a hand draws a curtain aside…..
The peaceful reassurance of the daily azaan spreads out from the mosque…..calling the faithful to prayer…..
The flower vendor…now setting up shop, attaching an extra strip of plastic sheet to fend off the rain…. Stops a moment and bows his head as the nearby tolling of a bell and the sound of a conch shell being blown announces the beginning of a new day in god’s abode….
A woman kneels down in a pew…..praying…..the calm of the church mirrored in her peaceful face…..
The rain looks down at the city……..now, half awake…slowly stretching its limbs……..stirring from the depths of a restless rest…………awakening to the jangling of a bread earner’s faith……
The shower relents……..probably giving in to all the Monday morning groans and grumbles emanating from a city forced back into consciousness…..
Finally, all that remains is the moisture on the flower vendor’s tarpaulin and the shadow of the boatman’s song on the rippled river…….

I saw the rising fog..
and it settled over my brain..
but an occasional brain freeze is cool...
it numbs away the pain..
*******'s hard to come by..
and drugs are illegal they say..
I wonder why they didn't put a tag on love..
And legalize heartbreak away...
Cigarettes are bad, they **** your lungs,
they burn away your soul...
But we've burned at the stake already love,
whats some dust n a bit o' coal..?
So let's reschedule the sermon father..
Save me a seat in your pew...
For I got a long walk back home today,
and a dream i gotta sew...

Storm, bird, grey blue sky..
A sunset of silver smoke..
And a dusty metropolitan dusk...

Chaos...
Dusty yellow street lights,
honking truck drivers...
cigarette smoke puffed carelessly in your face..
and the quest..
the unending quest for a single free breath...
giving you the slip at every bend in the clogged road...
the careful painstaking preserving of that one impossibility,
the concentration of all of existence on a handful of dust....

Poetry... Love...
Pathos... Faith... Beauty... Chaos... Epiphany... Longing...
Revolution... Madness... Desire... Life... Emotion...

synonyms maybe......?

So many souls,
like firefly flickers...
Lighting up the storm...
But none as bright as you my love...
A poem in humans' form...

The Day and The Night,
Two goddesses,
Intertwined in her.

Lost and found
hard leather bound
your soul in decay...
the wired space
the lost solace
the half choked **** on the way..

I'll meet you at dusk then,
where the memories fall in autumn...

A book, a smile
and an empty cup of caffeine.