City of joy
Beyond its apparent history and heritage
The esplanade and the old palaces hide
Conflict and wound, sacrifice and forgotten
And blur the dense boundaries
Between the real and fiction.
The city still sparkles with deception,
It’s slum boys and stray dogs with their gloomy eyes
Sink daily in the halogen emissions,
The night then curates the distant stars
With unknown algorithms.
Despite its dark and quiet isolation,
The street corner revives as a shadowy stage,
Echoing in perfect pitch the minimalist score,
Faceless figures in sketches and watercolours
Whisper on the subway entrance.
The memorial light is buried now
Under the loads of whispers,
In pursuit of the endless dreams
The lips murmur on the wingspan of the
Lonely skilled fisher.
The trees turn into a series of promises,
Syncopated words and sentences
Sublimate into the secret diaries,
The hustle of the avenues
Swaddle in our lengthy playlist.
When the cloud descends and the rain pours
It can be bleakest over the deeply cut river,
The boats and streamers
Lie stark naked in the middle,
As if beating out the source of all life.
Stirred by its bravery
The million smiles fill the pores of
The collapsing brick walls, and
The evening sky in search of the truth
Writes the anthem of the generations.
Calcutta - Ronnie Patel