At Marine Drive
in Arabian Sea,
Kabir and Tuka,
Parsi couple,
on Sunday,
keep away from prayers
and cares;
walk the surf
under roofs of rains,
winds swivel them
to Yezdani
for bread loaves
amuly butterly.
At Peace, their home,
in sofas, sea deep,
beside windows sky-wide,
rain clothed,
with barkless dogs and
cawing donkeys.
Beers dipped in
piano notes,
Parsi laughs,
riding berserk atop
honkless cars,
attired in flowers and fantasies.
A makeway Taj lunch
of dal, bakris and sabji.
Sunday takeaway,
a
Way.
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