Myself
Morning alarms buzz, chai steams in a steel cup,
The city awakens, a sea of honking scooters,
Buses crawl like turtles, auto-rickshaws weave,
I sip my tea, watching the streetlights flicker,
The day begins with a rhythm of brakes and horns.
On the road, a kaleidoscope of colors,
Saris and helmets blend in a chaotic dance,
Potholes appear like surprise hurdles,
I dodge a stray cow, a cyclist's quick glance,
Each step a negotiation with the traffic's pulse.
Office doors open, files pile like traffic jams,
Emails flood in, a digital rush hour,
Lunch break is a quick bite at a roadside stall,
The scent of samosas mixes with exhaust fumes,
Time ticks, but the city's hustle never slows.
Afternoon sun beats down, the streets heat up,
Fans whir, the air conditioner hums in the office,
Outside, a traffic light turns red, a pause,
A moment of stillness in the endless flow,
I breathe, watching the world pause at a signal.
Evening returns, the sun dips, horns blare louder,
Homeward bound, the road is a river of lights,
I navigate the jam, a song on the radio,
The city glows, a tapestry of headlights,
My feet tired, but the journey feels alive.
Night falls, the city quiets, but the echoes linger,
I close the day with a sigh, a smile, a prayer,
The traffic's roar fades into distant drums,
Dreams drift on the wind, past the last auto,
Tomorrow will start again, in the same bustling rhythm.
