July 16, 2016

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.

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