Versova Beach

Versova Beach

Versova beach on a beautiful full moon night

A girl inside the loose T-Shirt
and black Pyjama,
a copy of Harley Davidson fling bag
hanging near her petite tummy, swinging
as she is leisurely walking on the beach at 11 in the night
with a plastic tea-kettle in her hand,
announcing in fine English accent:
“ Anyone wants tea, cigarette, coffee? “

A tinder friend of mine,
student of social sciences,
is taken aback by
looking a well dressed young girl selling tea,
at 11 in the night
and out of collective guilt
of a failed humanity
we think of purchasing a cup of tea
“ She is like us. She is speaking in English “

The girl sits in front of us, smiles,
My friend asks her in a compassionate feminist tone
‘ Do you mind me asking you a question? ‘
The girl nods while removing hair strands from her face
and I finally witness her eyes,
those calm eyes
proud of all her melancholy
after accepting the world as it is; hopeless,
“Why are you doing this work?” Friend asks
‘ I don’t know. It feels good’
“Do you want to smoke with us”
“Sorry, I don’t smoke ” She replies with the smile.

She gives us 2 cigarettes from her sling bag
and we two wait for the next sentence
but she is not interested in
striking a conversation
which can one day be converted into
a scholarly essay of an
expensive humanities course
or worse,
into a bad poem.

I tell my tinder friend that
If I had looked at her for more than
a minute then I might have cried
because of the home
that I felt in her eyes
but she shrugs off the romantic poetic idea
by putting forward much important observation of
‘ Young girls in the capitalist atmosphere of urban
spaces’
and I yawned 2 times
by smartly concealing it
through
my cough.

A drunkard behind me is trying to call everyone
to know if any of his friends are available for a drink
but finally he is left to drink alone after
realizing the fate of
one more night
where he has to endure
the unbearable
company of himself.

Prostitutes near one large rock beating another
prostitute
because she has called her ‘ Prostitute’
With beer in hand, a 35 year something prostitute
punching rhythmically a 15 year something prostitute
in every 2 second
like an obsessive poet
taking care of rhythm meter.

For a while, It all appeared like a glitchy loopy video
and soon there is a scene as more and more people
rushed in after sensing a possibility
of making a viral youtube video,
noises of the huge crowd
disturbed lovers trying their best to
execute ‘women- on- top’ position
inside the hidden corner
of a charcoal color beach rocks
underneath which fat sea rats often
pops out every now and then
to behold shining full moon above the sea.

An out of work old DJ
at the corner of the beach
drinking cheap port wine,
playing songs on his Bluetooth speaker,
and two dancers who are
aspiring for a reality dance show
dancing on the beats,
fake blissful face of performative artists,
behaving as if consumed by the trance of music
while trying to forget the humiliation
of one more bad audition.

An overweight tarot card reader,
dressed in loud costume,
sitting with an out of luck actor
on a velvet carpet placed on the beach sand,
nodding, making surprise face at the
impossibly doomed future of the actor
who has recently pierced
his round nose.

On a beach,
full of drunkards,
loners,
sad dancers
bored families,
horny lovers,
inflation struck prostitutes,
old people laughing together to death,
the high tide sea
writhing,
suffering,
lamenting,
by the very sight of a stunning
full moon
like a dejected
lover watching
an impossibly gorgeous picture
of his ex on Instagram.

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