The night cracks up
Like a crazy hipster walking barefooted, smoking pot
Pointing towards the flashy lights of rooms labelled 'Dance Bars'
Where maybe someone you know, who is sexy enough, dances for money
Stroll even further and you'll see couples walking by
Familiar faces—fair, white, brown, black;
These faces I have consumed with might
From afar I see a Nepali girl dressed up in mini-skirt
Surrounded by hungry zombie-skinned men,
She's their meal tonight and I keep walking in search
Of Americano & Mocha—saviours of the world,
Shops and marts
Supermarkets and restaurants—they keep popping out
Like unwanted buildings offering meals and deals
I stare at mute handicrafts and innocent doggies
I'd like to bark with them,
From afar I smell the awful scents of unknown women
And feel proud like the desolate lake dying from the choking
Of weird green stuffs that have been growing lethargically
All over its edges, like your words affect me;
I roam the dark sinful streets of Lakeside
And decide that if I consume and dance
I'll be a lonely boat left alone.
I meet three boats later and let myself sail on it.
US bans swimming with Hawaii’s nocturnal spinner dolphins
Arun is a poet and fiction writer.
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