Once those 90s narrow lanes
by Shayam Chakraborty
now in memories they sustain...
the broad streets and unfamiliar dissonance,
the tea-stalls removed and cafe evolved
where monsoon lovers in each other
The constructions atypical defying the sky
the close-packed markets and its hue and cry...
the crimson spits in every corner
the brain hijacked politics and unversed reporter.
Underneath the flyover the suburban stroll
the scrumptious pork bhorta and celebrated egg-roll
the city small with a big heart,
modest and nothing 'smart.'
Something to offer it has for everyone
plight caustic and unremitting downturn...
downpour incessant deluge the plains
putrid politics and dead philosophical campaigns.
The drape of night falls in the evening,
after eight the sleepy city starts dreaming,
the loudest insects reign their domain
while in its farthest corner a home boy returns
in a passenger train,
'Ma, I am home! .'