Mumbai, Dusk.

Red crabs scuttling Upon the stones To the salt sea spray Of the rauccous waves Children selling happiness In plastic windmills Perched atop soapy water Blowing bubbles that melt Small faces wreathed in smiles The lovers exchanging notes Joggers on the run Old couples saunter hand in hand My hands clasp unclasp Holding on to…

View from my window.

The Arabian Sea Rages White foam Frothing at the mouth. The horizon crumples Merges Blurred greys Gathering storm clouds. A solitary boat Crosses Hushed whites In slow refrain. The bird’s heavy wet wings Splashes Slate tears Beating at the rain. I watch, quiet and still Striking Asphalt days Off my painted shroud.