Polluted Heavens

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By Ashok Bhargava

Outside, the haze sets on the dusty air.

Cheerful murals beneath flyovers present

a sharp contract to

the grey streets streaked with rancid smell

that inflames eyes and noses.

I don’t know what to do

except inhale you.

A toxic air to breath.

You are life.

I wonder

if the clean spring air will ever arrive?