Madras

The ocean
Soaked in an aching
Crimson sunset
Heartless concrete,
Abrupt exclamations
In a sea of green,
Jewelled silhouettes
Of temple spires
Reaching into a burning sky
Of relentless blue.
Women with work worn hands
Coiled jasmine in their hair,
Drowning their care
In the temple tank.
People,
Young, carefree,
Hair flowing free
In the blue of faded denims
Jiving to discondant notes
From alien shores.
Monstrous
Smoke belching buses
Disgorging girls
To a day
Of typing their way
To a dowry
For an unknown male.
The traffic’s roar
Lost in the endless murmur
Of a distant sea.
Slums,
Festering sores
On golden beaches
Radiant in the sun
And naked babies
With limbs of burnished copper,
Whizzing automobiles
Whizzing past
A cow with limpid eyes.
Chewing cud
Unconcerned – a traffic island
On a busy street
Madras flows on
Meandering between the notes
Of the limpid veena
And the hypnotic guitar.