Honeymoon

She doesn't walk; dances.
Seems to be---wriggly darting fish!
In the wind a snappy rumba
Right left front back
Turns on all sides in the flick of an eyelash.
The cupped dream of the skinny youth next door
Setting the city on its ear---Honeymoon!
Amid the smell of burning tires
A three-brick stove, the arc of the flame
No sooner the handful of
Unhusked cooked rice reaches the mouth
That Kolkata's footpaths clap and shout out---
Fantastic! Fantastic!

Khademul Islam is literary editor, The Daily Star