This morning I hear the bells and whistles
Away from the roads and streets
The fair weather is only peeling clouds,
Of the beginnings and endings.
Not many footprints are there on the dirty sand
Near beach shacks, near lampposts,
Horse carriages are as if invisible in a haze,
Where do they end?
Corn seller alone lost in somnolence of the tall breakers
On the wave splashed seafront, underneath the
Insects are breeding without notice,
Like there is no time to take rest.
Another night of abuse and invective,
Slowly breaks a not so opaque allusion
And there is often a sense of struggle
Of its own against the tyranny of life.
Crossing the sleepless night
An old lady smiles at the rising sun,
Inside her lies the fractured mind,
Wrinkle on her face deepened, elongated.
Foams surf the wombs, unreal the crest and trough
In all its radiance and trappings,
All muted murmurs sail through the high tides,
Juhu beach holds me now with her piercing blue eyes.