This City Is A Riot

This city is a riot,

a riot of tints and


it is full of monsters

and men,

of the chivalrous and the


of women with wings clipped

to their backs,

the rich and the poor,

the kind and the cruel,

the young and the old

stand tall at the sunrise and

crumble after sunset,

never are the streets sombre,

look around,

you’re flanked by glares and


cups of tea are passed around

the tables

while an outlier sips on his


saunter in wonder,

the cadence of different prayers

envelops you as

several religions co-exist with


let me tell you how

biryani is one of them,

there’s constant rush and

fragments of calm,

tell me what’s this city if

not a

beautiful riot?