wisps of morning mist
dance in the beams
of car headlights

grey road,white paint
deserted flyovers,
closed shops

streetlight posts
stand tall
in mute resignation

equally spaced
in a neat row,but
never quite close enough

taking a turn now,
at the corner
of a gully

a chai-wala,
in blue striped muffler,
opens his stall

and on a cycle,
aluminium cans rattle
as a milkman sails past.