Yours, City.

The twilight of this city is 

the tiny drop of dew settling on my palm.

So tiny. So misty that my palm is not what it is. 

It's a leaf! 

Somewhere this leaf is rustling.

Somewhere there are dim lights conversing with my palm.

As if I am not me anymore.

I am the ashes arising from my cup of coffee.

Are you breathing somewhere?

Are you staring at me? 

The crisps of these winds.

This city hurts me. 

It betrays.

But, I keep going back

to hold the scent in my very palm

that vanishes.

Photo credits: Jaipur by Sana Andaleeb