To each other.
To sit on park benches
At an arm's distance.
To count all the roses
We couldn't have.
At train stops, temples,
Hills, tea stalls.
Sunsets and long walks.
To grow some more
Distance each time.
This time at different
Ends of an aisle.
Ten empty chairs apart.
A caste, a few lakhs,
And a doused flicker of
Longing as divide.
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