Market stallholders have done their business.
Today is the summer solstice; there's no rush
Everyone's at ease, dreamily, as evening hibiscus.
Nodding; chitter-chattering hellos, mellifluous.
It's a gathering of people just mothballing-
In those last known moments of sunlight, golden
Lit by paraffin lights hung under low tarpaulin,
All look happy, relaxed and emboldened.
It might well be Sardar Market in Jodhpur.
But it's a little less grand and shabby chic.
There are fewer new goods at the pawnbrokers.
But unquestionably, it's full of magical mystique.
There are banks of steam mingling with clouds above.
Pots of boiling goodies poached—cared for with love.
Clothes, if you've looked, are covered in fine breadcrumbs.
A gathering in the distance 'around Indian wedding drums.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem