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.