Oh my city, the joyous one.
Here, 'the glorious dead' still reverberates amidst the dark alleys,
But 'the Living' dies every day, at every corner.
The crude decay of life in the temples of Kali,
Where the deity still stands tall, ---for good or for evil?
Could I have seen those naked children, yet turned away my heads so often
Could I have hurled my senses into the Ganges, When I headed to wash away my sins.
The slumber of the old and the restlessness of the young,
Lies shadowed beneath the screams of the lady in crimson,
Who survives in these unknown ,‘vile’ lanes of my city;
And somewhere between night and day,
the hoarse voice of a Maulvi fills the air with praises of Allah!!
And amidst the crusade for change and progress
The porters’ burden, still lie buried ..
Could I have seen the stray dogs run ,with life and death in their mouths?
Could I have borne the stench of floating carcasses and not shudder to the ground?
The heart rebels and yet still revels
To belong here , amidst the old and the new
To make a difference without blaming a few
Oh my joyous city,
Could I have rode across your sprawling ‘maidan’ with wind in my hair?
Oh my joyous city,
Could I have lived another life and not want it to begin ‘Here’?
