The Roaring White Water of Being

It is a throng
A teeming mass
Rumbling through
A narrow chasm
Of visual and aural
Cacophony

Impossible to gauge
To comprehend
Without standing
In the midst
Feeling the flow
Feeling the insignificance
Of one more being
In this tumultuous rapids
Of being

This is no special event
No unusual crowd
And there are miles of it
Wound through the maze
Of narrow alleys
In Chandni Chowk
Just one of Delhi’s
Many bazaars
This is the day-to-day
Of a billion people
In India

I can only love it
For so long
But I come back
Again and again
To ride once more
The roaring white water
Of being