Indoors

The streets and the wafting scent,

Of piping hot coffee and the plethora,

Of pockets of taste – crispy, crunchy and spicy.

The hustle on the road and the bustling crowd,

Two wheelers squeezing through the pavements,

And the honking and the havoc.

The roadside vendors, the pull carts,

The aroma of life and the flavors of being,

And the lazy walk maneuvering the chaos.

They say it’s happening, they say life is on,

They say it’s all the same and ever the same.

The streets are the same, but bleak and grey.