My Bed Is Near The Window Poem by Ravi Kopra

After years of self exile
I go back to India to see my sister
in Tilak Nagar in New Delhi

it is the monsoon season
rains, hot and sultry
mosquitoes, bugs, flies

my bed is near the window
that opens to the street
for a wisp of cool air, if any

I cannot sleep all night
I feel like choking
and when a wink of sleep

dawns at dawn
the street hawkers call
selling fruit, vegs

buying old news paper
old clothes, shoes
glass bottles, plastics

each hawker calls with
his own personal tune
singing like this -

kailay, sangtray, kharboozay
aaloo palak, ghanday
lay lo gi tazay tazay

(melons, bananas, oranges
potatoes, spinach, onions
all fresh for sale)

or, kabaadi kabaadi kabaadi
sell your bottles, rhudi
a rupee a kilo, hurry hurry

(or, dealer of junk, rags
sell your old paper, bottles
a rupee a kilo, hurry, hurry)

or, the pious ones
going to gurdwaras, temples
go on chanting incesstantly

wai guru ji wai guru ji
ram ram ji ram ram ji
radha ji krishna ji sita ji

I cannot sleep at night
cannot sleep at dawn
try to sleep during the day

if beggars don't ring the bell
flies don't hover over my head
rickshawalas don't hoot toot toot.