On the fallen leaves
I stroll at five in the afternoon
The homeward birds hovering over my head
The lovers on the benches
Whispering to each other’s ears
The sweaty old boys running fast,
As if to arrest falling stars
The boys in red T-shirts are playing football
In the corner of the Square
The stray cows, the tinkling bells of the ghoti-garam man,
The rushing vehicles, the painted women
The mad boy is in a meditation on the gravelled path.
Soon muezzins will call for maghrib prayer,
And the sound of the bells from the nearby mandirs
Will declare the death of the day.
