I never knew of such seasons in a crowded street off old Gwalior wayside nestling a pervading touch of your breath caught in nooks of sighs behind long ragged nights.
The tongas carry the weight of a destiny jostling to reach the far end of feelings ebbing in a raging storm beyond the fort gates I saw you perhaps in the laughter of orange and brocade in the eyes of an evening sky on the face of a saree winding back in a crowded street off old Gwalior wayside.
