from google





For Delhi: An Exile’s Lament for his adopted Hometown …





In anticipation,

of a touch, a caress,


something tugs, straining,


luring me back,


through smoky mists of bygone times,


magically transporting me,


to the lilting strains of sensuous ghazals and erotic rhymes.




My memory flees the splintered now,


to monsoon drenched days in Delhi town,


with your hand in mine, hidden in plain sight,


whistling romantic tunes in the scorching Delhi summer night.




Days of gol-gappas* in the Connaught Place rain,


bicycle rides to the melas**,


to rewinding our song over and over again.




I do confess I have been dying a little each day, since you and I were torn apart,


when from our beloved Delhi I had to so hurriedly depart.




I have been dying the death of a thousand cuts, since bidding farewell to you and to our eternal Delhi town,


sinking bit by bit, into the frigid ocean of fate,


where I feel myself ever so slowly,


drown.





* – gol-gappas or paani-puri, a favourite roadside dast-food.


** – mela, the Hindi word for a carnival 










from google






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