You’re going away like a fantasy
the Southern Avenue sky far away
like your lush, swinging breasts
your calf muscles like egg shells
running into the tramways and
all those doors and windows
occupied by Calcutta’s downtown sorrows ...
I light up a desultory cigarette
and walk all those uncertain miles
back home to nothingness ...
and yet it is morning, and yet
it is Calcutta among the wild
wild rains once again