on forgetting.
these days, these nights,
slicing to the core,
momentary joys, buoys,
merely afloat as beacons,
for lost travellers on the waters,
in flight,
holding on,
onto, clutching close,
hugging,
clichés aside,
holding on for dear life,
while days turn into more nights,
nights into years,
passing us by:
spectators,
ground down on rehashed tales,
finally, feeling the waft of fresh air,
knowing at last, at last,
the past would really, truly,
be the past
for delhi
( meri dilli meri jaan)
in anticipation,
of a touch, a caress,
something tugs, straining,
luring me,
back through the smoky mists of bygone days,
magically transporting me,
my memory,
to monsoon drenched days in ol’ delhi town,
your hand in mine,
hidden in plain sight,
lost in the starburst,
of many a shared diwali night,
summers of,
‘borrowed’ scooters,
gol-gappas in the connaught rain,
bicycle rides to the melas,
rewinding that one song over and over again,
after racing to your home:
(I Just) Died in Your Arms Tonight.
and i have been dying a bit,
little each day,
since you,
& i,
journeyed as we all must,
you, remaining stoic, still,
as
still
i make my own way …
Scribbled Verse 