You speak of walking,
Through that infernal street.
But don’t ever
Take a groping look at the half-shut windows.
There might be eyes scorching you.
There might be people feeding on their
Feeding on you. Fear.
And like amidst sequestered pools,
The forlorn ripples fight,
They fight among themselves
For your soul.
Wrote this for a fellow female traveller, who was doing the unthinkable back in 2009: Of travelling Solo through South Asia.