I hear your sounds, oh beautiful city,
that reminds me nothing of home;
A medley of notes, in dischord
creates din, my every curse adding sin.
And I spend two hours of the evening
Surrounded by un-moving vehicles.
Unmoved and unfrazzled, on I go
Singing with retro music from the radio.
A city bus won’t wait, it wheezes past
an old man on a scooter, with just a Beep;
leaving the man to breathe in black soot,
Uncaring with a cough no one hears, its mute.
Orchestrated, in unblemished disarray;
It moves on, inching, twisting, unnerving.
In short staccato intervals, a beep here
A beep there, means nothing really; so
You soon learn to ignore this rhythm.
Holding the note longer, sounds like
Beeeep. You may notice, but not so much.
Rhythmic intervals blaring into crescendo,
Beep beep beeeeep. And yet, a standstill.
The orchestrator stands heroic wearing no frills,
in a police costume, conducting this confusion.
Yields to no signal nor command, this din.
Oh! Bangalore, beautiful Bangalore
How I miss you; your wretched self
Has cast a dark spell, that’s magical!
And I cannot love another city more.
By: Sruthi Hamsini