Oh!Kolkata!

You carry my burden of yesteryears.
Dust has thickened along your folds, yet
cracks on a pillar do not bother me.

Gulab jamuns and sandesh
have made me a victim of hyperglycemia.
Still I add spoonfuls of sugar
in my morning tea-cup.

Protests march on your streets, halt
traffic. But you continue sculpting me.
You build my frame, apply fine clay
with care, sun-dry the softness.

A brushstroke opens my eye,
I feel like an eccentric
perched on the top rung of Howrah bridge,
eager to play a card game
with you.