Heartbreak seldom respects chronology—
Grating and chopping whenever it wants.
Seldom intruding with apology,
Destroying one’s thoughts with such nonchalance.
Hindsight is of little value when the
Baby is thrown out with the bathwater.
You realize the difference between a
Lot of water and none, as a potter.
But what the hen knows to be true of corn,
Is what a poacher knows of rhino horn.

In the season when rain demanded dues
Of singing and dancing from all of us.
Gajjimare wore his rainbow striped trews,
And danced upon a graceful pileus.
The air was brittle and broke in my nose,
And my nostrils lined with blood.
I plucked for you, a single rampant rose,
At the time when it was starting to bud.
I hoped you’d accept this token of love,
So, I placed it in the mouth of a dove.

It took to the sky in the dead of night,
And did not return for many hours.
I looked far and wide, ‘twas nowhere in sight,
I searched all valleys and all the towers.
And a white light shot through the Stygian clouds—
The dove flapped it’s wings and perched on my hand.
It became a show for the odious crowds,
That had begun to swell on the grassland.
And in its beak sat a knightly favour,
With your lips impressed, that I may savour.

With this gesture, you confirmed you loved me.
And I skipped through that meadow of concrete,
Overlooking the dewy craggy scree,
Where the sunset moored the earth in a pleat.
On that first day that we were a couple,
And you stretched your arms in open embrace.
We emulsified in a fine cuddle—
Love took root there, that God could not unbrace.
You took my hand in yours, and held it tight,
And we both had a bond that was airtight.





Photo by amirali mirhashemian on Unsplash