Close your eyes to the
Sweeping brooms,
Birds and monkeys,
Horns, lots of them,
Boiling water at dhabas, for chai,
The light crinkle of newspapers
Read by India’s, yes poor, but
Very educated population.
The grumbling of three-wheeled taxis, “autos”
People, on his or her morning walk, clapping
At their own pace, eyes closed,
6 A.M., calmly setting a rhythm for the day. These are Kolkata’s morning sounds,
Beautiful, of course, especially to a foreigner.
Sounds like these are everywhere,
But we are desensitized,
Losing touch with the beauty,
Which undeniably surrounds us all.