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Mahim Bay from Rangsharda, Bandra

Bay encased in concrete,
the orange dying above,
and a silver sea turns grey;
the waves crash futilely
against the Mahim fortress -
a little outpost of the past
- where I suppose the crash
of waves might,
on careful listening,
recreate the clash of
steel versus steel;
the boats bobbing by the
fallen ramparts,
signs of life that
probably,
lives in another time-warp,
of an eternal poverty
dependent on
the wealth of the sea;
Out there the great sea-link,
a marvel of modern
engineering, its cranes
hastening to completion;
above thhe clouds thicken,
monsoon hangs tense in the
air - a forebear of
things to come when
nature shall triumph over
men again;
and in the shanties of Bandra,
in the towers of Worli, and
in the middle-classness of
Mahim,
the lights come on
one by one -
A Cezanne waiting to be
painted -
a dying day, a sleepless city.

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