I was on the table
When a strand of your hair came calling.
I could see you in the kitchen,
Your face at once a storm and a breeze.
I curled the single strand of loving you into imagined shapes
And spoke to it of fascinating tales.
And as it played on my fingers,
Twirling, and curling
I could hear the music from its silent songs.
I had half the heart to carry it with me home
And hide it in a book marked you.
It smelt like July Flowers.
It smelt so much of you.
First published in Indian Sahitya, Feb 2017 Issue on Contemporary Indian Poetry
For me you have been a traveler The one who rides the oceans and the big blue seas Seeking experiences That can be framed into postcar...
If I could do a Neruda, You would have smelt of summer roses And Autumn pine. There would have been sheer love Of the kind that causes o...
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 imm...
You don't have to tell me. I just know. Its that little sniffle that comes through The unexplained pauses The slow responses I know...