Existence

The rain touched bunches of crows
Intermittently in the wet treetops
Stirring them from their half-sleep
Diagonally viewed from my hotel
Their caws deliciously defined my dawn.
On the earth spirited brown rain-moths
Went about their business like nobody’s .
I sit in the crowded ground floor café
Sipping brown coffee over a pastry
A white man came down with a thud
In the hotel lift, bright and gleaming
The white woman wore fresh and fragrant
Threads of strung jasmines in her hair
Just like the other ebony-backed woman
With luminescent flowers on her back
That black woman down there laughed
As her curled pigtail wavered rhythmically
This drizzle will not last the whole day
She had no jasmines in her matted hair
The rains here were so much like back home
The filth overpowering and strangely familiar
I look down on the world through the glass
Behind the blue-haze of the rain-curtains
From the sixth floor room of my hotel
Wondering if the twitch of that woman in red
Meant unequivocally that I actually existed.