In the chaos of Patan sits a building
red brick and wood windows climb four stories off the street
hundreds pass by without a second look
honking cars and motorbikes,
women clad in saris and kurtas carrying food home.
It is not a building of distinction,
perhaps easily forgotten
but with just a few glances, the stories come pouring out.
The bottom floor greets the street
a woman selling pots and pans gazes tiredly outside
students rush by in school uniforms
a shop that fixes motorbikes,
the owner diligently cleaning headlights.
Up the central stairs to the second floor
a stray dog bathes in the sunlight
Nepali words carved into the railing
a small restaurant dominated by Coca-Cola ads
several shops selling clothes and toys.
Up again,
and again
the third and fourth floors
quieter spaces called home
windows blocked by a variety of floral curtains
clothes draped from every inch of railing
seeking midday sunlight.
In the chaos of Patan sits a building
unseen by many
but home to a few
home to pots and pans and broken motorbikes
home to retail stores and a family restaurant
home to the quiet apartments above
a building full of love and life
contained inside those old brick walls.