Watermelon dreams
stain the skin of summer
as she smothers the city
in her blazing yellow shamiana.
—–
A gap in the stars
A full stop out of place
The twisted sky falls apart
The world sleeps.
—–
A sudden hush descends
on the neon painted night scape
washing the empty gullies that
sing cement colored sonnets.
—–
There is a shadow on her lip
as she stares out of the moving window
at the traffic gliding
between her screaming fists.
—–
They were watching TV
India Shining in their eyes
broken, battered pasts and totalitarian presents
erased by a clever copywriter.
—–
Death begins with doubt
inside corners
that inhabit our shadows.