(26 Dec 1969, yet to kick the bucket. / Mahuva, Gujarat, India.)

What do you think this poem is about?

Adaption

It's early morning.
The mist comes rolling.
She engulfs, embraces, smothers.
The high rises of Worli snuggle and whisper.
The blue of the sea, Colors their being,
Clouds shapeless hug their ceiling.
Love is made, wanton, in open, and free.
The sky misses the mountains,
Accepts concrete in lieu of their need.

Submitted: Thursday, February 14, 2013
Edited: Thursday, February 14, 2013

Poet's Notes about The Poem

I saw the mist covered Worli high rises in the morning while driving to office and this poem came to me. Worli is a posh uptown neighbour hood in Mumbai where perhaps a square feet of space costs more than a lifetime of investment in many parts of the world barring New Tork and Tokyo.

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