Poetry: My Week in a Triptych

When You Were Away

I made bread out of bananas,

scented the room with memories

of nocturnal moonlight,

and wrote poetry that I was

never going to read again.

Buying Carnations 

They inhabit a damp black cave,

primly veiled in jute purdah.

The pink is sharp and loving to the eye.

They will die soon

but I will buy them anyway.

Part of Mine

Everyone told me that

Delhi was the most ornate palimpsest:

rococo layers upon layers upon layers.

When I tried to peel them away,

they refused to be pried off -

and without me knowing it,

I had become one of its layers too

and Delhi a part of mine.