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Three wilted asters
droop down from the bin,
serenely.

An ancient Mercedes
suns itself
under the tamarind tree.

Salted beef, rotting lettuce
and Simla apples
blend fragrances.

A lone mouse,
tired from a long moonlight scavenge,
retracts into its hole.

Fresh biscuits, brown, warm and crusty,
line the pan at Chai Day.

In the fish stall,
shark and tuna, shankara and mullet,
pomfret and rohu
rub fins in heavenly unity.

The happily mentally challenged man
shuffles by; grin, twinkle in eye,
and wicker basket intact.

Asifbhai smiles
and sunshine descends.

Johnson Market.