Wednesday, November 8, 2017


Meeting you in
The hallway of pretensions,
I notice how you look
So out of place.

You break your steps
For a drink of water
From the mud-pot in the corner.

The crow watches.

You step over the shadow of
The minaret
That creeps in from across
The road onto the floor.
It tingles as it gets
The breeze, rustled down from the folds
Of your sari.

Tell me, what did you think of all my lies
When I had told them to you?
What do you think of them

Did you ever see anything
At all
In my gray and shameful ramblings,
In the repainted tin toys that
I had kept on your doorstep
And window-sill?

As we lay, face down,
On the cold ugly mosaic floor
With mismatched tiles,
Did your heart ever keep a feather
Over one of mine?

All our kisses we never tasted,
The hands we never held,
The wrinkles we never etched
In the grey, badly-embroidered sheets.
The goodbyes said early.
The hellos whispered with hope
And hung to dry in the monsoon sun,
The touches born of a hunger that
Never left its safe dark space…
All speak to me in
Braille today.

I close my eyes, my tongue, my ears,
My skin, my nail-tip,
Saving for another rainy day that
Will never arrive.

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