Urban Experience
It is urbanexperience
When you can’t separate
Faces, old or new
But leave behind
And say, “Keep in touch”.
Yes technology keeps us, touches too.
But can’t remind us how it feels
To say Goodbye.
It is urban experience
When you are stuck in traffic
To let your demo-crazy
Sorry, democracy ruler pass,
When you envy or desire
To be a dummy
In an elite showroom.
It is urban experience
When a lady leaves her seat
For a mother holding a child
And men on the bus, watching
And feeling safe,
Seated not on “ladies-seat”.
It is urban experience,
When you walk beside
The Prime Minister Office
Barefooted, at 10 pm.
Yes, there are police at every point
Not for your security
But for the democracy.
It is urban experience,
When you search a place
But get that not by postal address
Advertising billboards or banners
Catch your eyes to names,
Not missing address, unless
You have microscopic eyes.
It is urban experience
When you get too much before the wish
Either for heat or raindrops,
As tiny drops land on
And turn into a giant flood.
It is urban experience,
When your writing are
Shown in gallery, and
You hardly call it poetry.
But at the end of the day
You selfish mind opens up
And receives something
An experience or apoetry.
