Solitary-Poet

Balcony overhang, clothes catchingThe fierce summer heat,

Float in the air, waiting for tinder 

Look about to catch fire

Non existent fires about to become real. 
Old wizened faces, of men aged

Grey not by years but

By incessant burning of skin and bones

Toiling in continuous fire pit of poverty. 
Child, naked from waist down,

Barefoot, except for an ankle jewel

Rings with each step – a single small hollow sound 

Calling out generations of freedom

Lost in a child’s years. 
Women, single file and stationery

Faces hidden completely,

Not from religious or cultural piety,

Their burden, carried in ever larger loads

Of street litter, sorted for value,

Veritable prize on their heads. 
Teeming mass of humanity, unending,

Snapshots of beings, different purpose and pose, 

Playing themselves in unending circles,

Right on tracks edge, 

Not a centimeter is spared. 
Brickwork, mortar, joined in 

Misshapen pieces, never ending 

Waste piled high and overflowing ,

Pieces of scrap, multiple colors of plastic, dung, food lying there. 
Teeming slums, dead colors on walls

Hugging trains cutting through hour by hour

A quick image of 

Huddled masses, exposed to each other,

Barely touching not changing 

The dead color on the walls.