Settlements

under flaps of wires,

that cross over laundry lines, 

there is a settlement; a colony.

to its left, 

an expressway runs

endlessly, above  

the empty river bed

that is now a dump,

a home, a valley to some

this year 

kindness came like rain-

from somewhere, some sky-

filing the valley

to the right

there is green shrubbery now,

still growing, in the wet,

glowing beneath inside-out shalwars,

hung out to dry

in a breeze that is all too occasional.

though it must be said-

with full gratitude-

that kindness truly came

in a spate, 

flooding the small streets

that never connect but always stream, 

into the same, main traffic ways.

in English, they say:

‘when it rains it pours’

behind the trees, there is an underbelly

where nakedness is ugly

not because of what is not-worn but because of what is wan;

mostly two-stories of bare concrete

baked brown in the sun, but

basking in parts

that have been decorated by white paint;

this is a two-storied city. 

still, something seems to say

next year the sky will be even kinder

and water,

it will run, run, run

until the paint peels, and

nothing can settle anymore.