Sitting on the edge of the creek,
I stared at the water flowing infront
Of me in waves of teal green & grey  -
Ah, shades of life.
Pigeons flew in the distance, Skimming the yonder skies.
The sky was turning old, no longer a
Child ; a colour of multicoloured Cotton floss.
Now a deeper violet, reflecting the
Departure of nature of Mumbai.

Mumbai, the city that never sleeps
Yet we the privileged ones do, while
Workers are huddled in streets in
Groups like ants, trying to make their
Hay : their bread & butter, while the
Privileged ones walk by.
“People who cannot hear the music
Will always find the dancing people
Insane”.

The shades got lighter, the nights
Darker and days longer.
Chiltern playing on the streets are
Unaware of what the future awaits
Them.
The burghers rushed in circles, seas
To catch a local to rush home.
One danced in ignorance,
While the other paid for the Consequences for all the things they
Ignored in the name of bliss.

The dogs barked in distance, praying
To the god for peace, to lessen the
Misery of the world.
The sky turned orchid orange as if
Colours were playing a game on the
Canvas, changing colours all the time
To match the setting sun.

The sky was a beautiful vermilion,
The type of orange that would Captivate you and leave you Mesmerised.
The streets were a bright orange, the
Type lit during protests.
Voices everywhere,
Not the pleasant ones.
The voice would bring you back to
Ground, back to reality.
They say that the place we live in is
Safe.
Safe?
Everywhere around there is orange
Flaring.
Fires being lit to symbolise what the
Words couldn't say.
Blood coated the streets like flowers
Coat a wedding, except they were for
A meaning.
Students being hit with rods,
Movements forcefully broken.
Women being hit,
Voices made silent,
Laws being implemented in the name
Of a ‘bright’ future.
Gates being locked.
Is this 2020 or a fascist regime?
Is this the India we live in?
Is this the India, we want for Ourselves?.

They say the appreciate criticism,
Yet they hush us.
Sealing our mouths with locks
Disguised as violence, spreading an
Atmosphere of fear.
They hold the keys in pride,
Thinking it'll stop us. It shall not.
The fire in our veins will burn
Brighter, fiercer.
We'll let it consume us, if it saves
Us.

I had a dream, it was a nightmare.
Everything was burning, only the
Temples, Mosques, Churches standing.
And when I wokeup,
I was sitting on the edge of the creek,
Staring at the water flowing in shades
Of grey & tinted pink - ah, the shades Of ignorant bliss.
The sky was young,
No longer old, now a painting from
Wordsworth’s poems.
There was peace.

-Ridhima Joshi