At 7 pm on the skywalk, I find
My eyes and ears baffled by loud congested traffic
Pushing me to extreme pressure within my head.
This bedlam is mostly prevailing
At junction between road from Dhaaravi,
And from Sea-Link below Western Express Highway.
Noisy explosions from near S R A office
Where huge metal structure members
Are being cut by workers of DHIL.
I am not able to bear the mix
Of Cars below, trying to beat
One another, and horning away.
Each horn sound acts as an arrow
To pierce the soft ball of my brain
As if without protective skull around.
Feel like having fallen on ball of thorns
You realize that four months ago,
I had a severe brain haemorrhage.
You understand why now I
Do not want to walk out
At this time of the evening.
Better to walk at 6 a m
Now that winter has folded up,
And I have got used to getting up early.
Indian music with violin and flute I hear sung
On my bedroom tv but only till about 5 45 am
Me free thereafter to walk into ‘incense-breathing morn’.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem