- Chitranjana Bandyopadhyay
It’s niftier where she lives.
All north breeze and espresso skies. That is to say, I’m lost there.
There are trees more green that envy and more aged than wine.
Yes, its niftier where she lives.
There are five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes in one year.
Time slows down there.
There, walking along the port holed paving, I was the most foreign creature the pigeons had ever seen.
They looked at me funny, frightened. I was a threat, unwanted.
It’s strange, where she lives.
The houses have two floors, with a garden attached.
One grew roses, the other, weeds.
Yes, it’s strange, where she lives.
Its calm, where she lives.
Not a sound of a drill, or a street vendor announcing his arrival.
It’s as if, there is a price for a voice to pay- A costly one.
Yes, it’s calm where she lives.
And she lives there well.