Packed with cacophony,
The hustle - bustle of the streets never seems to end;
Packed with colours,
The vibrant hues of the streets never blend;
Packed with fragrance,
The aroma of the spices from the street food, you can’t pen.
If I could paint the moments,
I don’t think I could ever keep up with it;
Every vendor with its story,
Their joy and pain, in my canvas they won’t fit;
Every traveler's inspiration:
The people, the colours, the food and their myths.
Looked deep into it,
The colours with their historic yet artistic stories;
A colourful street,
Trust me; no colours in the world can paint its glories;
Drink in their beauty,
For nothing can capture their priceless poetries.
The roasted spices,
Their aroma and fragrance, a perfume for the appetite;
And no fine French wines,
Can ever be compared to the chaiwala on the street side;
The spicy chats and sweet snacks
I’m sorry I couldn’t put words to every delight.
Different yet the same,
The streets, though I have not walked all,
Their own poetries they write,
The hustle-bustle, the colours, the spices, the bawl,
Inspiration in the dust;
Take a brush or a pen; paint them if that’s your call.