Becoming

by Tim Blight

How I fell in love with your streets,
the rhythm of your dhol,
That first September, to November chill

With others so harsh, but benevolent with I
Gazing into your soul
Accepted me in warm, and whole

The monsoon’s dregs, on your flooded streets,
Washed clean by morning
I said that I’d rather go dreaming

New cameras and no connections
Gymkhana to royal arches
Reclining, bathed in moonlight, as the storm passes

And when it did, and we awoke
Oceans apart
But forever in our hearts