City Poem : Manya

Where roads aren't wide
but vehicles crawl aplenty,
the streets are lined
with shops never empty.
They're match box sized
and house mannequins pretty creepy, 
the lanes suffer from congestion
as far as the eye can see.
A milieu of people 
in a hurry to get somewhere,
interspersed with hawkers
trying to sell MADE IN CHINA articles.
These shady gadgets
would last for a day,
at par with the jewellery
that's also sold the same way.
The shine and lustre
hide the defects well,
the neon rainbow of soft toys
provides similar help.
Big balloons the size of
a mini water tank when inflated,
found in abundance
by the stone edifice of faded red.
When the aroma of street food
wafts through thin alleys,
easily older than your age x6
you'll know you're in Delhi 6.