I come from a place where the ‘supposed to be’ wide roads
are a host of traffic jams everyday,
and the twisting and turning galli’s are big enough
for matches of cricket and football.
I come from the seas of desks and benches
where waves of books and pages
roars along with the crowded hallways and stairs.
I come from the house where the dinner table is filled
with the joys and humbles from the day
ending with the depressions of the evening news,
And even the dark places that reeks
with the stench of cold memories
that no amount of smoke can mask.