Red Fort domes below
Smog smothering all
Weakened sun
Weakened lungs
Weakened resolve
Beauty and ugliness
Joy and hardship
Kindness and predation
This land of extremes
This country of paradox
Creating beauty from ugliness
Weakened sun
Weakened lungs
Weakened resolve
Beauty and ugliness
Joy and hardship
Kindness and predation
This land of extremes
This country of paradox
Creating beauty from ugliness
What could be
More iconic
India
Beautiful
Were it a morning mist
Or a shroud of fog
Pierced by morning sun
But smoke permeates the atmosphere
Even the train compartment
In which I ride
With every breath
Smoke
I drink it in
This perfection
This preternatural beauty
My spirit soars
My arms outstretched
Imagining, I’m a hawk in the wind
Each a mystery
Each a surprise
Some a shock
Some a delight
Not for its familiarity
Nor for its comforts
Nor even its dull grey beauty
But for its being
An integral part
Of my being
A solid from liquid
Carved and shattered
Cracks refilled by molten rock
Uplifted and fractured
Sundered and separated
Tumbled and rolled
Now here
Settled gently
On the shore
Of a still lake
On a quiet dawn
To marvel at the fleeting existence
Of the things that live
Even the tree
Which carries me
Throughout the day
Until the amber
Comes again