The white ash of day burns down,
dusk seeps across the Arabian Sea,
Mumbai shuts down before my eyes.
The prawn fishers of Sassoon Dock
load furled nets aboard night trawlers.
Workshops empty, shutters clamp
and the curtained bazaars thin;
shaman and holy men retire,
their wobbly legs tug them forward
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem