The Departure

There, in the middle

of the overflowing street,

stands the Jasminewala –

He’s just trying to get by

on strings of tiny, white flowers,

whose fragrance alone

can intoxicate all soulful human beings

enough to altogether forget about

their looming departure –

I'm the only white in a sea of brown,

like his jasmine, still

he spots me –

With a grandiose smile

and inquiring eyes,

he raises his dying jewels to the night;

and I answer him,

with a smile to match,

raising my still-warm parcel of soggy bhel –

As he blazes a trail to me through

the sky’s tears and the petrol fumes,

a rainbow of trust connects us –

Tonight, he won’t be hungry,

and tomorrow,

I will give brown blossoms to the wind –