Where the banyan tree used to be, loneliness is now hidden among the rare couples that loiter in the empty fog on stone ground, the unrelenting surface that takes their footsteps all the way home from the glorified heights of the office towers they now inhabit, in this giddy post-industrial world.
The reasons why shade is no longer needed is not even surmised, for in the absense of the said trees, not one thought is given to the air caressed through leaves in more golden times, when the soft earth was giving and skirts rose up on thighs when the women waded into a long-since dried river.
Solace now is sought in a kiss. How different it was when giggles escaped lips and chase was given through the curled boughs and tree trunks, and love was passionate in the long grass.
the cement is cold
the air is heavy on the street
the smile is sad
the shoes hurt on her feet
and it is raining inside