Silent Monsoon
Remember the sand that boiled
in our hands as we dug into the earth
together?
Remember the chain
that stretched to its limit
when we pedaled hard on
our cycles?
Remember the shards
of skin that fell off
our knees, blending
into the soil, becoming
the feed
of earthworms?
Remember the round stains
our lassi glasses made
on the housefly-ridden
café counter?
Remember the future
that had crept in stealthily
into our words,
as we talked about
those high-flying glow-worms?
As I had smoked that
one Gold Flake King,
drinking the tea you had made
from a glass tumbler,
you had watched the raindrops
fall on the banana leaves
and roll off quietly.
Now, only the puddles remain,
and their song is lost
in the monsoon.
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