There are noises in dark rooms

who can build a house without din

wooden stairs without creaking

and a veranda without creepers

crookedly ajar doors scandalize

ghazals escape gramophone

like a royal an ageing raqasa shows up

on a murky balcony

arabesque alleys continue

under bras messages hibernate

ogling in the The Dancing Girls’ Bazaar

nights reveal in sitar and anklets

hennaed-feet agile dancers

exude intricate bodily expressions

those who lack skills are desires

growing on audience

body encores mystical whirls

asking fresh piece of betel-leaf

poems in courtesans’ hands

endure a legitimate munch

over rickshaws and donkey carts

a dim moon smudges the songs

sung by the concubine Anarkali

planted alive in bricks by the Emperor –

azan form The Royal Mosque tempers sweating bodies

ablutions flow on white ponds

pigeons land like souls wanting modest bribes.

*raqasa is an Urdu word for dancer*