Glut

As We drive by a village of sugarcanes,

A delicious smell wafts into the air

Like sweetest sweet potatoes

Being fried in butter

The smell is So rich

That my soul fills up on it

It is So delicious, like mother's milk

I am satiated Just by the smell

It lulls me, not to sleep But to comfort

And i am inspired

To start the day on bright note

I am told it is

Sugarcane being crushed into treacle

Pervasive as it is, it is also very mild

And if u don't pay attention

U don't even know its there

And the city senses

That have been desensitised by 

A glut of strong perfumes
would never even notice
 

I wonder what it means to be human

when all our senses have been glutted

by a constant stream of sensations

each battling to be 

more sensational than the other 

Color used to mean beauty

A way of imbuing nature's variety

into yourself

It took months to create a fabric

and maybe years to dye it

the color you want

and gold and silver

lent a little bit of glamour

to what you wore

And now we see so much of it everywhere

that colors look garish

and i would rather dress

in neutrals

whatever happened to the way

the sight of color lifts your spirits

there were days when

it was a treat to have something

And sweet was not the showy

Strong flow of sugar

But the mild, intoxication of honey

Or mangoes or jackfruit

That doesn't leave

A bitter taste in the mouth

But grow sweeter as you suck

Or at most maybe

Treacle or jaggery

once a year, dipped in tea

and now that I have sugary treats

for breakfast, lunch and dinner

no wonder I grow indulgent

but the biggest strain is perhaps

not on my eyes and noses and tongue

but on my brain

it takes days, months, years

to digest a thing of wonder

and here we see hundreds eveeryday

on television and on internet

and each learns from the past

and becomes more and more sensational

i wonder how long my brain can handle it

before it bursts