City Of Dreams

By Rishimaa Dave

When the city of dreams seems to be asleep,

Early in on the weekend,

Late on the day before,

Between the moon's descent and the sun's rise,

After the last ones go to bed,

Before the first ones awaken,

The pixels on the buildings are drab,

Not a single window lit up,

Except for the blinking light on top of skyscrapers,

The light from the street lamps reflects on the glistening tar,

When the roaring roads go silent,

Not a blaring horn to sound,

And the signals red with no one to stop,

Not a single vehicle to be seen,

In the city that never sleeps,

The metros and buses in their sleeping space,

And the bloodline on its break,

The Arabian crashing on the shore,

But the boats lay still in Sassoon galore,

All stores, but the 24-hour medical closed,

Not another person in the streets,

With all felines and canines asleep,

Not even a single bird peeps,

In hues of blue and gray,

The dusky orange street lights bloom,

Tranquil in its seeming chaos,

Is what I imagine.

When the city of dreams falls asleep // When Mumbai falls asleep.

By Rishimaa Dave