turn
ing
spinning
turning on my own axis
slow and not steady
sometimes i pass the moon and we talk
she brews lemon grass kehwa
drizzles cinnamon powder
i add honey
swirling it round and round
till we merge in the elements
darkness smells of cinnamon and you
you say you are here
you
say
i look for you
maybe i do not look
for you
the vortex blurs my
sight
or mayhe
you are not here
maybe i am blind
march is a sorry month
all months are apologetic
some paneeri grew into
voluptuous dahlias
others decided to die alone
lazily the bougainvillea leaned over a neem
hiding its sorrows in its
thick bosom
crevices in my moon
huddle to cradle my losses
it’s gashes match mine
you say you were here
footsteps of an ancient presence
were we together?
will we meet?
I’ll set a dastarkhuaan for three
you me and the moon
but
when the moon recedes
i’m afraid you won’t come
and
when the moon is full
you will be busy
