Blend

RainSmoke cabarets out of the potholes on our craggy front-road, like

birthday-streamers spiraling out of magic vials.

A piece of sky balances itself on Ankur-Ankit's roof-shade, dripping gold

on the scratchy cat that sleeps below. 

Spooned in construction-sand, a wet dog

nuzzles his own paw, too cool for a game

of cycle-chase. Ricksha Kaku doesn't mind the 

water, he

sits on his pet machine and

lets a thin ribbon of cheap-smoke 

blend into the chiffon rain. Suddenly,

everything blends into everything else and

an August noon ages in my mind. Fingers slip

off the cold window rails, I

turn to you.