The Thrill Of It All

Criss-crossing streets,
cornering randomly lit joints,
carrying the myriad many,
the pleasure of passing by.

Hugging street lights,
hugging them all,
for many the last hope,
before the wretched darkness falls.

Carpeting with it the lusty sky,
swinging with the loo,
dancing like the pollen
caught waltzing in a Brownian furor.

The rhythm of the breeze,
flowing vehemently ever beyond,
slapping with its gusty composition,
the nocturnal who awaken to dream...

beyond the consciousness
of the tiresome road they follow,
slippering the cobble-stoned path
upto to the end that is the gallows.

Prowling, like hungry beasts,
come the night dwellers knocking,
And the nightmare unravels,
like that seen just the day before.

"Child, lemme see through your eyes,
I hope you want the money,
'cause I got a bad horsie,
And there aint no time enough. "

And another tear contours the blush,
Unspoken resentment bewildered,
and smothered by an inexplicable rush,
nevertheless rejected, if ever expressed.

Everyday sees more of them,
rich, poor, honoured, but all daft and numb,
loathing in egocentric self-apathies,
all out there for a night like no other.

Encumbering on forever,
this voiceless poor prisoner,
incapacitated by the unrelenting molestation,
hatred for men like no other.

And as the night turns purple then brown,
The culprits slyly writhe away,
And like it never happened at all,
its a bustling market, a wonderful day.


Kartiek Agarwal , on child trafficking and prostitution