By Sunil Sharma

Rain drops sliding offthe telephone linespower cablesdish antennaebig crystals dropping fromgrey skies of the Asian spacethe cluttered skylinemost of the year—invisible. The pigeons and sparrowshiding from the downpourperched on the window sills/eavestheir shelters. Rickety strays, shiveringon the dividers, paint peelinggarbage bins, contested territory. The roads broken, twisted, floodednightmare—for the automobilesin an asthmatic city. A junkie dreaming of next fixwhile a painted woman, of a less abusive clienton the dark street, guarded by tattooed toughswhile somebody cries, Murder! Help please! A man/ flaneur/dandyfamiliar dandy figurespotted on the cobbled pathswinding down palaces, museums, shopsselling exotica to tourists hunting for chunksof grey historyIs it Baudelaire?Who cares?let us go out and eat in the Subwayafterwards…go someplace cozy and warmmixing desire with wine from the Burgundy.