Tales from the Window
In the month of September
One just needs to stick his head
Out the window
Of his 20 metre Everest
Between 150° and 180°
The familiar cocktail
Of burning incense, paper
And diesel from buses
And gaze, just watch
As ants scurry past, on
Two wheels, two legs,
Four legs and four wheels
To the hustle and bustle
You might just be able to catch
A getai or two, resounding through
Or even whispers floating liltingly
As seen by each individual
Have the bearing of normalcy
The comfort blankets of many
All that’s left
Are the ashes, of nights past