India by Deborah Sparks

Blinking away the dust in her eyes as she follows the winding path
Dodging the unsteady rickshaws, so accurately named
Breathing the smog-filled "air," polluting her lungs like a chain smoker
Ignoring the stares that question why she is there
Walking toward her air-conditioned safe haven
To escape

As she obstinately yearns to shut out the unfamiliar world
Suddenly, she sees a testament to its exotic beauty
A small red blossim, growing among weeds that long sought to overpower it
It persisted and made a home there

Now, as she looks up and surveys the urban scene
Grits and heat slowly drift away
Blind eyes can now see
And the landscape before them is one of
Vivacity
And untouched charm
Cows grazing peacefully, sari-adorned women in simple woven sandals
Colorful, chaotic, blissful life, everywhere her eyes can see

Thus, the disparate observer becomes a part of her surroundings
And turns the corner to reach a new, ever-different destination
Blinking away the dust as she follows the winding path