Ankita Saxena

Maybe it’s time to go. To lie in the folds of one city,

While listening to the jagged,

Carnal breaths of another.

Tishani Doshi ‘The Adulterous Citizen’

Lonely boy flirts with the lull of a floating soprano.

Pastor Sarah begins: “Lord, you are

the ultimate planner” raising palms above

her head to bless.

Lonely boy taps on flower-pots turned to drums. Roots

gnawing at hollowed-out skins.

Using only his index and middle finger,

he makes a tribute to Reinheardt.

Tiny cracks of light form a sky of crystal chandeliers.

Girl stands in rain, hands cupped carrying a candle. Newly

a woman she wears a purple scarf.

Something spiritual, almost Sufi in the way lonely boy plays.

“On the corner of Dongping Road,” Pastor Sarah says

“you will find it.”

Girl bends down. Watches his face discolour like autumn.

Counts the shades.

“If you come out of Exit One” she says,

“turn left. And if you come out of Two, turn right.”

The road winds like a screw, seems

to end up nowhere.

Somewhere, a deep voice calls to prayer.