counting

am counting the days


and
the hours

when i will start missing
the crow's incessant


and irritating bawling
the five shower a day
humidity

the stretched palm
at intersections

the one legged hawker
selling tissue boxes

the legless old man
with toys spread out
who never utters a word

the traffic signal light
red, blue, yellow
that means go

the faux subservience


if you get a chance
you should eavesdrop
when they talk about you
such racy language
will make you squirm
and smile
simultaneously


am counting the days


and
the hours

when jet-lagged
i unpack

and

start missing the crows