The randomness of that afternoon.
Beauty in chaos.
What makes life beautiful?
Streets crisscrossing and making clusters of moving lines,
telephone wires and old deflated balloons stuck on them since seven slow months.
A walk through the afternoon bazaar turning into an escape of its own kind.
Colors, patterns, emotions, aromas, sounds— fusing together in quantities unknown,
but in quantities that make sense.
Book stores, jewelry stores, fabric stores, spice stores, vintage fashion stores, antique stores, stores that have everything, stores that have next to nothing because of a sad reason, empty closed stores, stores so full they suffocate me.
Sunlight, sweat, thirst, hunger and the desire to eat that spicy roadside samosa with a strong cup of chai and a borrowed cigarette.
A girl looks at me in the eye,
so young, so melancholic.
A young boy sings a song of lovers in agony, I’m mesmerized.
I want more of that safe thrill that veils an unplanned day,
more randomness,
more emotion,
less organization.
I want a beautiful mess of a day —
more often, repetitively, until randomness isn’t so random.
That beautifully aimless afternoon is what I want,
over and over again,
with the agony that boy sang about,
that mixture of everything,
I want the randomness of it all, in my veins, in my soul.
I want the chaos, forever.
