March in Hyderabad
Every so often
I wish I were born
In a simpler age
(as if there ever were one)
when one could lose oneself
in the beauty
of the purple haze
offered by the lace-like blossoms
smudged across the blue summer sky
as I battle my way to work
through the emissions
of an information economy on the move.
One wonders
where the sentence breaks
to accommodate the parenthetical pause
for noticing
such moments of transcendence
in the midst
of everything ongoing, never stopping
(lest the traffic lights change on you).
Big words
like
Climate Change
Global Inequality
Sustainable Development
Communal Violence
are allowed to fade
somewhat
into the background
as the bright yellows
and flaming oranges
of the flowering trees
demand
that we retain
despite those Everythings
a capacity for happiness.
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