Step by step I carefully descend the narrow stairs
Down into the dusty street
In the dark haze the people stir
Waiting for the dawn of a new day
Carried on the plumes of cooking fire smoke
I crinkle my nose and breathe out
But I swallow the taste of smog and click my tongue in protest
To my left I hear the clap-slap and swish-swash
Of the washer women beyond the trash hewn gully
A cadence emerges
Rhythms are born in the morning
From the warble of songbirds
Rumbling the bars of soap slide against wet clothes
Hooves beating leisurely through the streets
Far off the toots and honks of traffic break through like bleating lambs
Called to prayer
With my eyes I see brown people wrapped in vibrant colors
Marching dutifully to this beat of life
Old men with limbs like knobby tree branches hobbling
Jars of water hoisted atop the heads of old women with long braids
Young people with neatly combed hair and dewy faces
Erect this way of life stands strong against the crumbling buildings
Step by step I carefully ascend another set of tiled stairs
The way is narrow and steep as I peer over the ledge
Aimlessly in search of the Shepherd to lead them home
From the roof top I look out
As if the veil of night were suddenly lifted
Peeled away from sleepy eyes
Nocturnal remnants evaporate into a thick white mist
This city gives the illusion of floating in the clouds
But the dust of the earth remains underfoot
Like ash and clay
The ripple of a footstep lifts the powder to settle on your skin
Heat pierces through the fog
The forecast is in
Sweat will certainly pour today
The winds will then lick it off your face
Salt and soil will remain
Squinting
I behold
My first sunrise in India
