wrapped in everyday chain,
tons of debris on a series of nimble platforms.
for one shining moment,
no one in the meeting hall whipping their tongues.
on a dusty cross road,
near multicolor kiosks, a few perched trees stand tall.
a dreamy eyed passerby,
hold a single stick of fireworks, a burnt candle.
the first citizen of the city,
coconut palms, full of annoyance, grow on each other.
a few drums of burning oil,
send a stringent smell on a gloomy winter afternoon.
petty and pedestrian, spoof and satire,
between conversations a few words float over the railings and burn.