Featured image by Noor Khan

before we rustle out of our beds

the rooster cuckoos the world awake

light nimble feet, turn into stomping soldiers speedily

in the shush of a bright morning

the milkman traverses through our ‘pada’

his cycle crunching through the unrepaired, gravel-y gullies

the clanking spoon in my mug

as i slurp my first cup of tea

the egg sizzles and whirls itself into an omelette as i pour it in the pan

i honk and i drive by

the splashing water from the municipal taps

and the fluttering flock of birds

the thumping of a hundred tiny girls

amongst beeps and vrooms of vans and buses. i hear

murmuring and giggles, as my daughter walks into the school

if there were no words

stories would still drip from every corner

buzzing and crackling like radio channels

sometimes barking, sometimes just whooshing by.

hear the lub-dub of the heart, the rattle of the souls

hear the sputter of the city, as if were words no more.

By Swastika Dasgupta

Swastika is a student of Symbiosis School of Liberal Arts, majoring in International Relations and minoring in Anthropology. She was the secretary of the poetry club, It Could Be Verse and is qualified in cracking puns at the wrong time. She is always enveloped in poetry, dance, music and theatre, with a keen interest in learning about cultures. Being half bong-half gujju, she loves to eat and loves to feed.

Instagram: @swatsup_