A POEM BY R. STEPHEN
Garments of every colour crowd the bazaar
cars dash and weave among patrons
beeps and engine noises fill the grey mist
hurried swarms wrestle for position
red and orange clouds plume among traders
flavours and spices consume the air
smoke and pungent aromas fill the head
pale brown streams flow under bare feet
crimson temples obediently shield the masses
woven together by spark-laden lifelines
hungry figures bellow from every direction
a circus of macaques and green feathers tightrope-walk above
headwear constellations signal a chorus of deities
young men assemble to share food from their palms
the limbless youth peers from beneath the cloth
porcelain bodies tingle among this mosaic of senses.
About This Poem
I Never Drive In Agra: A Vivid Rush Through Colour and Chaos
I wrote I Never Drive In Agra to capture the overwhelming sensory storm that hit me during my visit to India in 2016. Agra is a place where everything happens at once. Colour, noise, movement, scent, heat, life. I wanted the poem to feel like stepping straight into that whirlwind, where the bazaar crowds your vision and the streets pulse with their own wild rhythm.
The beeps, the weaving cars, the red and orange clouds rising from the traders, the spices that cling to the air, the pale brown water running under bare feet. These details came from wanting the reader to feel the same disorienting rush I felt. Agra is not a place you glide through. It is a place that grabs you by the senses and refuses to let go.
The temples, the spark laden lifelines, the macaques tightrope walking above, the chorus of deities signalled by headwear constellations. Everywhere I looked, something demanded attention. The poem leans into that mosaic of humanity, where beauty and hardship sit side by side without apology.
It is a celebration of chaos, of culture, of the sheer intensity of being alive in a place that never slows down.
Leave a Reply