Wings

With whirs in lifeless circles, fan recurs 

black and white world between drab and pale walls

boundless but broken a crippling inspiration. 

deep beneath the skin, anxious boredom crawls.

Something has to shift. Something has to change.

Out in open under shell of gray clouds 

infinite rickshaws mirroring metro tracks,

painted buildings blurred with gray paste.

Fueled in dust and air, the whiff of cigarettes,

a rushing wind wrapped with reckless haste.

Up above constant construction of towers.  

foot on pedal, a ride upon the street-

distant destiny guides the destination.

Flung on the sides, parked cars in disarray  

like flock of humans in a railway station.

Bare tinge of green, in forest of cement

drear drowsy eyes near vegetable stalls.

Fused with a lingering stale smell of petrol-

turbulent noises amids horns of hatred,

on fifth gear the boiling frustration falls.

Gentle kiss on belly of the waxing gibbous. 

swept off from clouds, a whirling confusion

The caressing grace of the setting sun splashed,

quite lights in field with colorful explosion.

There's something in the sky, something in the eye. 

Pale orange glow of street lamps at night 

dots of light in deep and dark distance.

Something in the sky, something in my eye,

Wind on face with wide arms outstretched  

A soaring inspiration finds its wings to fly.