Taking notes

The smoke softly enters my cotton dress,
My dirt-soaked attempt to feminity,
As I walk down the monotony of the street,
potholes? Enormous! pebbles? Stubborn as ever!
Paperboats? Missing.
I float through the river of begging hands and broken limbs,
heart breaking every time my empty pockets sneeze at the plaintive footpaths
As I bypass the wreckage – got a long day to start.
I catch a bus that is all too well versed in her routes,
Sweaty palms and oiled plaits, a common sight to behold
Grey hair dusting off endless memoirs,
I sit by the side of an old wrinkled story
Who is draped in yellow and smells like Vicks.
I jumped back on the road again
as the old wives fan the roasted corn
And I walk down to the train station
amidst the catcalls of a man who is double my age,
And whistling boys still in their school pants.
I do not stop to ask the man if he dyed his hair with henna or colour
And do not stop to tell the boys they resemble my younger brothers,
I somehow reach my office building
I do not really know how it looks like from the front,
I pass through plastic plants and shrink in myself
as I take the chair drenched in fluorescent lights – got a long day to start
and my mind is taking notes.

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8 thoughts on “Taking notes

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