A Song 149

Mornings,
noons,
evenings,
nights,
thick specs and tapping sticks,
in dhotis and sarees,
shuffle to wooden benches,
cement rests,
under banyans, peepals,
on Link Road.
Monsoon winds hush
Ram Krishna Haris,
Tuka and Kabira,
chuckles;
wind down eyes.
Me am one,
with the world done.