Karachi

The man with crying eyes
I was in a rickshaw with friends when I saw a man with crying eyes
Slowly floating bye.
On his strange motorbike.
And he floated by and he floated by and he floated by
And his crying, drooping eyes followed me.
The wet, crying eyes followed me
As he floated by and he floated by and he floated by
In an arc around my eyes
And then vanished around the corner of the arc.
Our tiny rickshaw rattled on.
Quick, miraculous creature:the rickshaw.
My hair flew and rippled like a demon’s tentacles
We crossed touchme chorangi  and wondering at
The somehow lovely crassness of the name.
I raised a finger and pointing at it turned a smiling glance towards my friend.
She nodded, laughing.
How lovely, lovely, lovely, a city’s heart.
Bring me it’s heart, slow soft rhythm of it’s heart.
So old and sweet. And quick and reckless.
And so filled with people’s whisperings.
So filled with the placid smoke of all discomfort.
Swooning, the city, sits, swooning over the masters
And the slaves and those which are the common men.
The peeled walls. The story of it all and people walking billions, trillions
Marching of to lives I've never seen, saying sentences that are getting lost.
Only the city knows.