the feeling of being yeet
the feeling of eating a kabab
the feeling of the kabab being delicious
yeetkabalicious

Oh what I wouldn’t try to do
For but a drop
Of Bangalore rain

The steamy wet mud incense
Soaks through the all-too-blinded
New money two-storey houses

But, oh, what’s that
A 2% glimmer of something
A je ne sais quoi?

A 2% vegetable-market-mixed-with-chai
A 2% late night kabab stall
A 2% unsightly shopping mall basement

A 2.5% biryani from my mother’s hands
A 2.5% cat resting on a soft four poster bed
(Dark wood, of course)
A 2.5% afternoon nap lull

An 86.5% sound of a heart weeping,
Far far away,
For home.