Flyover

by Ranjiet

I divide your city into two
pomegranate halves.
Jammed in bricked boxes
seeds bleed in pairs.
I am a crack in your thinking.
Your house is nothing but
my skin tags,
you grow on me.
I am a joke
on the city’s address.
My bulging hips
stuck up in your window,
my back is your view.
Your buses and gods rant
under my armpits.
In a yoga pose,
I meditate on nothingness.
You rush on wheels.
I am your roller coaster.

Ranjiet teaches poetry at a college in India. He writes poetry in English and Hindi. His poems and translation have been published in various journals. His latest poem is published in the Tint journal. He also curates a poetry page on instagram: indianpoetry00