Written in transitThe truth is simple:
I love you.
Listening to the rain
pitter-patter-pitter
patter on concrete
tasting smoke and cold
tea at noon
alone.
A month of journeys.
Thatak-thatak of journeying rails
video film on bus screen and
“please extinguish your cigarettes…”
Crimson-baked sunset in Andhra, somewhere
in the plains
Doves bantering at Marine Drive and
rumali roti at India Gate
Mirror-work cholis resplendent at
Law Gardens and
black tea near Teen Darwaza
The valley of Madam Marina
sheltering midnight lovers
Bottles of beer and kids
fighting for empty dreams;
A Saturday night binge.
The truth is simple;
like your hair
that smells of ‘grease and sunshine
and sweat’.
I love you.
1986
2 comments:
The observation of all those minute details during your travel is nice. All of us travel so much, we write about the big mountains, sunrise, rivers, etc. But a very few of us spare a thought for the mortals (living or non living)....
But did not get the "I love you".. Looks kind of mixed up. May be my limited capacity to see beyond the obvious....
I love this poem and really know wat you mean by this....
My years at the home, not grown up cuddled with a book battling pimples , frizzy hair and raging hormones and nothin to worry.
the mid 90's, I love you.... every lil bit.
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