The last metro is cruising through the flooded city…
flooded with strangers.
Night does funny things… licking the disappearing rain is one of them.
The train is entering at this station…where everybody gets down,
nobody ever gets up from here…
I am also that nobody.

All the streetlights get dangerously pragmatic in monsoon,
together all of them make a yellow mascara for this crying city.
As I come down the road…I see a forgotten kite; getting touched inappropriately in the middle of the road,
coloured dazzling indigo.
I think I should pick it up and take it to my pile of filths.
There’s only one entity left in my place which is not raped by the vigorous crimes
and strangely I am not that entity.
It’s my half empty bottle of thick brown rum…it’s too strong for any mishaps.
Anyway I think this fallen and busted kite will uplift my collection…
I am going to put it right in front of the window from where this city comes into the room.
It should know the vengeance of deep waters.

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Photograph: Nat Coalson.