The ‘phuchka-wala’ counts his coins, 
The road side hair-clip seller packs up his unsold bundle, 
The night approaches!! 
Streets full of peripatetic people, 
Of philistine, poseur,lout, 
Of paramour, pedantic, philanderer. 
The malls —- full of tired cash-collectors, 
Day’s sale — enough to satisfy their pecuniary thirst. 
The mendicants too retire, 
In their mangy shelter. 
Tilottama’s physiognomy — piebald; 
But misnomers they are !! 
The miasma covers us; 
The obsidian replaces the alluvium. 

Plutocracy reigns both; 
The night approaches; 
People rejoice; 
Even the homeless thrives in Georgia’s shade. 

The night approaches; 
I pall– from plebeian matters; 
Poignancy is just too much; 
I fail to be phlegmatic; 
I cannot but have to pinion; 
In the darkness I see lurid on the mural. 
Seconds of lull pass away. 
No orifice, no panacea; 
Nothing to indemnify; 
The interregnum seems to last forever ; 
My parched heart — musty; 
The missive of obituary remains; 
Mired yet the peregrination continues; 
Who can oust this spell ? 
The night covers us !!!!! 

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