Monsoon

Walk in the half light of rain

Backwards

Into the rain

Of a rainy city.

It wasn't the destination

The terminal

You fevered for then,

It was the ride in the gharri

The smell of the bazaar

That stays with you;

It wasn't the girl,

It was the old horse

And the gharri-wallah

That your annas took.

Your annas bought more it seems than your rupees did

In lasting pleasure.

The rain came to the city in a gharri too,

That gharri-wallah kept his fare waiting.

You were the rain that wanted your city

City in city

The great city only the environs

Of your small intricate city

And the gharri so slow in getting you there.