Monday, August 13, 2012


I won’t speak of nouns as big as rapture
But I might as well do when I see you again,
See you when you said on the phone, “to your left,”
Or see you when you mouth a name that sounds
Gently warm, agnominal, triumphant, jai ho.

I’m certain no book is ever really lost no matter how often
You insist you’ve never finished one from cover to cover.
But I will not miss the chance to pluck from my shelf
A favorite and hand it before you: Please read this.
Please read between the lines. Please read my lips.

You would remember a lot of things, I am sure,
But I want you to forget all the paintings
You never made or that person who wept
The first time you two had slept together
As you whispered, “It’s okay… It’s okay…”

But you must know everything was all right then,
And that weeping wouldn’t stop so soon,
For when eloquence evades you like a man
Silenced by books or stuck with blank canvases,
There are words you just have to hear

Again and again. Again and again.

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