Tonight I could write the saddest lines
Write for instance that
‘’The smog is shattered and the orange haze hangs heavily above
the hoardings selling insurance’’
The beedi smoke spreads , the autos cough out
some soot
Tonight , I can write the saddest lines.
Through nights like this , I held him in my palms,
Pressing his many buttons, feeling every romance
he held , every new acquaintance that was pregnant with a impending friendship
I dialled 100. The Bangalore police cannot find him,
My Bombay boy.
He loved me, Sometimes I loved him too
I broke him, I repaired him too
How could one not love his great wealth of
Sentiments, of his contacts to reach ceos
Within seconds
To hear the distant wind in a now hostile city
And to know that in him he carried Bombay,
Its dirt , its trains , the goat cheese tarts at terror struck hotels
And to know that he is gone now,
He is another’s, perhaps a driver of an auto,
A college student.
What does it matter that my care could not keep him.
My memories have been dismantled and he is not with me.
In the distance, coolies are banging and a few birds left in Banashankari
sing . My soul is not satisfied that he is gone
Maybe he was meant to go, dismantle a metropolis,
Stray fucks, strayer press conferences on what the rich hold dear
The same asthmatic smog molesting the same green city
I of that time no longer am burdened.
It is good that he is gone, that is certain
But maybe, I want him.
He will be another’s. His teenage poetry sms,
The invitations to coffees , the chatter with prs in high heels
Phones last so short, forgetting is so long
Though this is the last pain my phone makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for him
I am sorry for the drama, though. I found him in my drawer..eventually....
2 comments:
Hahaha. You didn't actually call the police, though na? This is really great man. Best blog post yet!
I remember how heartbrokenly pessimistic and defeatist you were that day. This captures it perfectly.
The ending isn't true though. You never found him. You were moping. You should give credit to the proper parties.
Chris stop raping my poetic license to lie about the police ok.
and ok my maid found it but still
Post a Comment