THIS PLACE

I am on a league of shadows
that hardly tame me .
They describe this place
to be perfectly fine.
A place that calls ' women'
With more emphasis on every letter.
This place calls for ironies and metaphors
Trading with some cultural elements
Of bindis and jhumkas along.
This place soaks my heart.
It begins it's day with
Catcalls about decisions
And ends in boredome of midnight
Dark enough to dissolve you too.
Every night I wake up
Anxiously out of a dream ,
Summarizing my world into art
To begin my day with a catcall too
Or may be ' catalogue ' would be
The perfect word.
That has a lot to offer .
This place teaches how iron is made.
It leaves you alone yet
Stirs you up like a routine rhythm.
I am drowned most of the times,
At some point , with my face above water.
To let myself know how air tastes like.
No this place is not a jail.
It is rude enough to offer
Stones under your feet while you are on
A mile long journey but
It offers you handmade cream
For your ripped feet .
Once I thought it to be
a cacophony of animals that
Much like 'animal farm' had a
War at the end .
But that's not true .
This place puts you into a social gutter
And leaves you to decide
Whether to clean it or
Leave your broom down and come out.
And I failed miserably.