Assam

in the busy streets of Assam

what purpose do I have?

the sun if too high and bring, cloudless

as if unaware, under it children running along to catch a lively ball

the endless chatters in a language too foreign to my ears

the smell of fish cascading through the air

in the corner of a house, small ladies in sprees chuckling among themselves

a joke I will regrettably never get

a few, not too many, bikes on the way to farms only nearby

piles and piles of fruits mounted in separate triangles 

would I taint the image if I took another step?

what purpose could I truly have?

I breathe the mountains and the lakes,

and perhaps even the distant rain

it is then that I truly understand my purpose,

Assam.