Karnika Chauhan
Dear streets,
We first met
When I was two
On a scooter
Stuck between my uncles knees
While I try hard to stand still and see
The colours of chaos.
I have been dying to tell you
That how sorry I feel
for overlooking your beauty
The siren
The bustling
The flashy sign
your relentless companionship
made me friends with the chaos.
I fondly remember
That 70 year old women
With sharp eyes
Humming a tune
with cotton sarees all around
all in reach of her arms
as she grabs one
delicately
to admire poetry on fabric.
Then late at night
Her old body could carry
Each one back home
still often
she would keep one aside
to give out
and I wondered
Maybe
She’s had enough today
To bring home a meal.
I know you have seen so much blood
Finding yourself
in nearly every major event
watching closely the protests
Where people are pushed
To the front lines
Yet you choose to heal
I see you comforting
A heart that aches
Of crippled dreams
You hold them wholly
Love them
In all circumstances,
By pushing them to survive
I put this letter
In an envelope of poetry
With faith in
Contentment of simple things,
As well as to just hold on,
While you are waiting
For words that would not arrive
Let the chaos fuel your tenacity.