Isbt Bus Stand, Delhi Poem by Aumreetam Dinabandhu

An afternoon, a hot humid summer,
after a desperate attempt to escape
from the roaring ca(r) ts
of this dense concrete forest
Let me take a deep breath
at this city's rabble old bus stand.
Oh…! I can't even hold it for a moment-
Damn the aristocracy, the amour propre!

The breath I now inhale
traveled million lungs,
dusts and dirts
urine and faeces
and slapped by poisoned smokes
expelled from the anus of the roaring ca(r) ts
and those tracks
I can't trace.

Lest, here would be greenery of Himalaya
I could possess it a moment
as if it is mine,
just to trace its trajectory path
and discern its access
a spontaneous question arise
who has made it
how it becomes a basis of life.
Though every time it refreshes me
like morning rays of sun
like destiny-
none has acquired but born!


Lest, here would be the fields of Elysium,
just to repose,
just a dream to serve
in a royal dinner banquet a starter
Consommé or Tortue Claire
to these plastic rag pickers dwell here,
survive on defile loaves,
and drink nearby drainage water.
Dream must be for now,
for today and for here;
Enough have been dreams
for more and for future.