Poetry of the day


  A Bombay Morning


Deep months

Of Monsoons in Bombay.

Raining since morning;

Grey lowering sky, grey inward sea, mists,

and a blurred city.

I sit watching a tall building

under construction, indifferent, proud

under the pelting rain.

There are many such nearby;

beachhead of a new lifeform,

already triumphant.


We converse, they tell me,

with abiding forces, earth`s bedrock,

unseen motions, limits to things;

we will be here when much is gone,

since we are the expression

of history`s main intent;

we are of the domain of immortality,

of reigning gods, titans, great kings:

and you are a fleck of passing existence,

a drying bird dropping

of foreign migrating flocks,

a low networth individual,

a substance not caught

by nets of history,

like a raindrop

About taposh

Novelist, cartoonist, poet, social activist, development banker, documentary filmmaker, blogger, reader of books and realities, ponderer of questions milling around. Still curious, somehow.
This entry was posted in Monsoons, Mumbai, poetry and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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