Always more than the sum of its pieces

A glass breaks, snaps in pieces just like that

and brings back the distant space it was bought -

memory and wistfulness in the format

of a raw, jagged rim. A morning caught

between the smells of the dust and diesel,

between the crosshatches marked on the road;

the mood chasing its own tail like a mongrel,

the vendors already in touristy mode.

The traffic in the cloak of peak hour rush,

the more the haste the more viscous its gait -

the whole day an indeterminate slush

of bleached sky and earth in a grudging wait.

Now that the glass's broken it's got the sheen

of a greater truth, more than what glass should mean.

Tomorrow marks the start of the Indian autumn festival season - the Navaratri or nine nights culminating a month later on Diwali, the festival of lights. I have family visiting from India during the Durgapuja (yay!) - so I'm going to be a little occupied with stuff offline, but will be there for the WEP October Spookfest. Online and off, it's going to be a megablast!