Faded Jaded Maid: Calcutta

Malodourous drifting acrid air
smote the nostrils flared
in hope of gulps of fresh morning.
Ulcerated pavement
broken sewer gushing,
thick brown eddies churning
in ever-widening pools.
Filth not wasted
for wasting rickshaw-puller
gleaming chariot washes
in the town's early morning effluence.

Faded jaded maid
many sang you praises
City of Palaces
seat of Viceregal pomp.

My spirit shall not walk your streets
lined by soot-black
boot-black buildings;
palm tree languishing against crumbling fence,
small boy modesty barely covered
crouching in action:
down-hearted Victorian Gothic
cheek by jowl,
skyscrapers jarring
pink and red mosaic.

Fly-blown Sargasso-sea-green chicks
confront the little Bubble,
ivy-covered wall
concealing Public Works
ordered tedium.

And like some new-discovered Parthenon,
oasis-like amidst a sea of squalor,
is the stadium,
where futile races are run
for trophies that will not be won
by this faded jaded maid.