look.

Between the white cotton sheets and the dupatta adorned with silver sequins that catches light every so softly- like wilted flowers after it rains for the very first time. Guide your eyes through the last verse with the high beat, right after the chorus. There, veiled by the first two words, hidden by the smudged black ink, so tactfully behind letters and punctuation.

Can’t see anything?

But its there, behind the rose mist of the early morning, behind the cloaked women, miles below the ocean, stuffed in between beds of clutter and feathers. Underneath the dotted skyline, and the glaring tube lights, right next to the flashy billboards and the bangles of motia flowers. Smell that? Smell the sweet scent waft right below you?

No?

Smear the mud away from your grimy window, focus your eyes, be led by intuition. Float, fly, dance. Please dance. Skip, let your clothes flutter, in a flurry of the citrus yellow and midnight charcoals of the dewy morning.

That’s where you lost me.