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Smoke gets into the eyes

There was a betel wine that fondly and fiercely cuddled on to a yellow flower tree in my courtyard. They lived together, with each other, intertwined, for as long as I remember.

I will pluck the tender betel leaves for chewing pan, and my grandma will gently sweep the fallen yellow flowers from the courtyard everyday at dawn. The dying flowers huddled together in their final journey to the recycling pit. 

One fine day, grandma did not wake up, and in a month, we had lost her

One rainy day, not long after i saw last of my grandma, the yellow flower tree got uprooted. It died too, with the sweet betel vine.

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Out of my distances from you. Realizing thus
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From my time with you. I have often found myself being unreasonable
When I am away from you.
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You would not have walked with me
Had the nights been not so scary
And your nightmares
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Had the hands that I wished to hold
Not left me out in the cold.
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Even as in our silences
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Mar 7, 2015
First published in Indian Sahitya, Feb 2017 Issue on Contemporary Indian Poetry

Objects in the rear-view mirror are…

When it was time for her to go, it was also time for me to let go. Once an irritant is washed out, they say you can start seeing better immediately. All that stupid tears and all that rubbing of the soul, until your eyelids would cry out, no more, no more. 
And then, just like that, one fine day, I wake up, and she was gone.
As the train chugged out
The tracks cried out in senseless
creaks of half despair