Rolling down the window and sticking out my head
being kissed by the sunrays until my cheeks go red
taking in the air, pulling aside the hair from my face
recalling old memories that had hid without a trace
stopping somewhere away from the industrial gloom
walking down to the mustard fields in yellow bloom
bouldering up a rocky ridge or discovering old wells
allowing my instincts to be led by sounds and smells
going mad over parathas, with butter melting over it
topping it up with ginger tea, waiting for reality to hit
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