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.
