I wait for her.
Sometimes outside
My home.
Sometimes within
The contours
Of my brain.
Sometimes in
What's app and
Sometimes in a
Longing that's
Invoked by shadows
Of origami cast.
I wait for her,
On the brink of
Fantasies I crave.
In the blink of
Moments I save.
Piece of me sits
On a chair.
Another on the
Slow rotating fan.
A shattered little
One waits from
Behind the bookshelf.
From between
Unwritten letters,
Typecast feelings,
Half eaten roti
And an unopened
Diary.
A couple more
Peep out for signs
Of her arrival.
And the days
Have passed
Without consequence.
Months and years.
As my reflection
Stands wearing
Concentric wrinkles,
Like I'm a
Worn-out tree.
As the moons die,
Oceans dry,
Time stands aged
And stars fall broken.
The signs haven't
Been dandy yet.
The wait hasn't
Come to rest.
On a good day,
The fire is afraid
Of burning itself.
The huts have
Been saved.
Water is scared
Of cutting through
The ground.
The farmers have
Been graced.
The storm has
Contained itself,
And the sailors
Feel blessed.
And on a
Good day like this..
As the sun shines
Bright.
And the flowers
Bloom fine.
The fate has
Tumbled off a rock
And everyone is
Having a good laugh.
Don't try,
To force
Your thoughts,
Against fragility
Of words.
Till they fit into
A noose and
Die dry on a
Sheet of paper.
Don't try,
To milk your
Emotion into
A jar of pretense.
Till they choke
Under a charade
And fail to evoke
Any real feeling
Off them.
Let it come to
You like a
Feeble caress of
A lover.
Let it come to
You like a
Gentle brush
Of wind.
When you sit
Aloof and as she
Passes by in
Your mind like
A fagrance.
If a tiny spark
In your mind,
Materializes into
A thought to
Fall in love with
A word.
Maybe then.
Maybe then
Pick up that pen
To trace the
Transcendent
Line.