Stray Stories

He knows someone is watching,
When he goes past that house.

From the backyard of the house
And the darkness of the kitchen.
Threads of her gaze seem to
Hail upon him to heave his heart.

The tonal sounds of her breath,
The rhythmic touch of her foot.
Her unseen face and imagined
Persona stomps on his chest.

So his bicycle breaks sometimes,
His chappals wear. Sometimes
The stone in front of her house
Bleeds his toe and he has to

Take there a moment in pretense
For his sweet pain.

She too wants to rush out to
Directly catch his gaze.
But the neighbouring aunt doesn't
Call out for her in time,

Neither the wanderers come
In time seeking alms.

And the days pass, years roll.
The longing in the eyes never
Transcend down to the hesitant feet.
Never tending to meet-

These stray stories linger
Restlessly in the same street.