on carton road

tired of walking upright,

i found myself sitting on the last

of the two rows of red plastic chairs.

then crumbled into tears.

it was only

when they brought in a woman

dressed in red,

that i saw the wood,

the shed,

the pot of fire,

the smoke,

and the people.

but they did not see me,

so i was content to sit.

later it was an old woman and then a young man,

more people wringing hands

at flames,

and the smoke got into my eyes.

an old man with tired eyes,

asked me what i was doing there,

'koi saga thaa kya?'

not 'who', i wanted to say,

ask 'what' had died.

and yes, it was 'sagaa', very personal.

i collected my defeated shoulders,

stood up straight

then walked home. who'd have guessed

so close to the neon lit cafes of carter road

there existed, a perfect refuge.

waiting

i have extended my arms out

to the night, waiting

for a star or two to fall,

the sand beneath my feet

is smooth, even,

as if drizzled from some hourglass,

it feels cool under my toes,

distracting my attention

from the pointy blue stars.

then exhausted by the blueness

knifing through the darkness

i close my eyes, and inhale the stardust

i think i am ready now

let the pain come

it will last only from the time

i close my eyes to the blue

lean back and exhale, fall.

illogical, but i feel like gulliver

my hair now entangled in sandy fingers,

the back of the hands, the small of my back

and my legs bound,

the sand is cool to the touch, smooth, even,

fills my lungs so easily, quickly

and ears too. the last sand scratched sound dissipates

into the blue puncture in the skies.