Cardboard corners
wrinkled in white
sewn at seams,
blue ink blotting
tainted with frail fingerprints
I saw my name on it
in restless ruckus
searched for the sender's.
The address read "Lahore, Pakistan"
the lull lilting into a smile
the stitches cut with a surgeon's precision
gave way to a blue gloss
galvanizing the box.
It was a riot of colours
ornate objects
in yellow, green, red and white
a pretty memento
tucked in a corner,
a kurta too
with pink edges
made its presence felt,
the smirk turned wider
till my jaw jibed like a joker's
while my eyes hurt
with a quivering question.
I wondered only if the postman
at the door didn't give a lamentable look
while handing the parcel
sheltered scorn spilling over
from his soul,
guarded by a bulwark
just like the barrage across the border
that might have been the most momentous monument
raised for the purpose of peace
I wondered why?
First published in Poetry 24 here
wrinkled in white
sewn at seams,
blue ink blotting
tainted with frail fingerprints
I saw my name on it
in restless ruckus
searched for the sender's.
The address read "Lahore, Pakistan"
the lull lilting into a smile
the stitches cut with a surgeon's precision
gave way to a blue gloss
galvanizing the box.
It was a riot of colours
ornate objects
in yellow, green, red and white
a pretty memento
tucked in a corner,
a kurta too
with pink edges
made its presence felt,
the smirk turned wider
till my jaw jibed like a joker's
while my eyes hurt
with a quivering question.
I wondered only if the postman
at the door didn't give a lamentable look
while handing the parcel
sheltered scorn spilling over
from his soul,
guarded by a bulwark
just like the barrage across the border
that might have been the most momentous monument
raised for the purpose of peace
I wondered why?
First published in Poetry 24 here
