my hands have mapped my country
into my history, the snapshots
I remember distributed to me
like flowers in a wedding.

the open market in Delhi
welcomed me with open arms

its lost bird
I've forgotten its way and means
tucking dreams of its spice
in a drawer at the back of my mind

the beggar with no eyes moves past me
with fingers empty, reaching out
to the crowd, blind themselves

as they rush to work, early start
at six in the morning. The trains

packing and overcrowded, an intangible
wake of worries- family life and office
deadlines stray into the air. the train moves slowly
and i sway in its rhythm, floating
with my mind thinking about life.