At the signal

I cringe inwardly, apprehension grips
as we come to a halt at the signal
beggar girls with babies at their hips
eunuchs draped in sarees come to wheedle.
I peer into the blackness at the wastrel.

Claustrophobic in the car’s cool confines
desperate to whiz past the neon signs
as clamorous hands touch the window pane
I see their starved faces, I hear their whines.
Sadness and remorse I cannot restrain.