The prodigal Ganga ghat in front of me, 

it has seen my everything…

my loneliness out of unspoken heart and defeated imaginations, 

my love with a raw girl at evenings of blowing dirt and a pack of peanuts.

I still come here…I don’t need to be held now, 

but the memories are there to be touched and smell in a long waited wind. 

A boat…small, wooden a petal in this thunder water. 

And there’s a boy rowing it in an oscillating posture…

the depths of this iconic river getting caged in his mere palms. 

Generally I love to bite into things…

but the trance there made me linger.

The cigarettes…two pairs of rotten but fixed eyes. 

You don’t need to believe in therapies sometimes…

I have my old ceramic steps, some wallflowers and a river which sees everything.

……………………………………………………………………..

Photograph: Google.