Difference-less streets
and
all-round walkers
crossed me on the road.
The Monsoon potholes,
family scooters,
stilled trees,
tangoed to the rain.
Fat breezes
woke up the tadpoles
and the souls
dulled by the dusty fates.
None
there
to give
a kind shade
to my Samsung
and my young lungs.
So many
flammable stirrings
all
yearning
a mystical dance
under the 4G clouds.
— Drunken drops.
Thy Vox 
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