Aji, Ajoba
hobble to a wooden bench
on Link Road.
Count fallen leaves,
leaves on copper pods, peepals
on knotty fingers;
lose count.
A January sun
microwaves them;
vehicles pass wind,
drape them in
leaves and less.
Mumbles.
Nods.
Tripping on dreams,
take tumbles,
jingle;
no grumbles
as a hobby
turns habit.
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