Friday, December 13, 2013


'Google' will draw you a map to my place
as you would hold your phone in your palm
like a magnetic compass,
the red arrow turning its neck
left and right like a kathakali dancer, and then
straight on its nose
as you ring the bell.

I would brake my swiftly
speeding bones to not
plunge into your arms
which I believe
would be spread in
the "Our Father" position
to catch me lest I fall.

When we sit together to read
a book, the afternoon
would write stories of salacious silence,
some we will read
on each other's lips.

A kiss will be the only language
salient against sound

else we can watch a movie
with women in saris
swaying to the pontiffs of patriarchy
then when we get talking
I'll tell you about how crammed
the coaches are
when the hissing metal-head
ferries me home every evening.

When we will sip tea slowly
sentences would get swallowed 

with the steam like the winter evenings
when other men staring on me at the station
blurred against you and smiling didn't hurt my jaws
and when we will touch and tell to get tired
We can thread a story
with our five year plans
And I'll burn the letters
that I always wanted to
write to you 
when you were away.

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