SATIN

Where are we ?

And what would you ask of me?

you nor i can say,

and i cannot repay you

with tales of archetypal destiny,

for i simply cannot perceive any.

walking down a narrow street

with smells ever amorous,

it greets my senses with a foreboding applause.

i see a lonely man

wrapped in white satin

stood up against the wall,

standing tall,

then horizontal

on a pyre.

his ashes to be spread

and all around

beggars begging for sanctimonious bread,

or chapatis as it is better known here.