The fuchsia queen
of some erstwhile carom board
abandoned on a sidewalk
forlorn
waiting anxiously
for a befitting
royal burial
alone
by a busy city road
which cares
for neither life
nor death
in the footsteps
of the Great Mughals
or the corridors
of the empire
in which the sun never set
thousands of souls
that are lonely together
trying to fill
that same blank
with books,lust
power
the Sufis and the poets
the revolutionaries
and the mystics
square pegs
in round holes
misfits all
hiding their rough edges
looking for
the perfect other
to fit in
to smoothen out
stories not
worthy of
any telling
live and die
phoenix-like
the myth of the city
feeds on people
and lives on
how many graves
I walk on each day.
of some erstwhile carom board
abandoned on a sidewalk
forlorn
waiting anxiously
for a befitting
royal burial
alone
by a busy city road
which cares
for neither life
nor death
in the footsteps
of the Great Mughals
or the corridors
of the empire
in which the sun never set
thousands of souls
that are lonely together
trying to fill
that same blank
with books,lust
power
the Sufis and the poets
the revolutionaries
and the mystics
square pegs
in round holes
misfits all
hiding their rough edges
looking for
the perfect other
to fit in
to smoothen out
stories not
worthy of
any telling
live and die
phoenix-like
the myth of the city
feeds on people
and lives on
how many graves
I walk on each day.
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