I told you long ago
That I had grown up
Altered for the better
Your hopes for sympathy
It was never love
A rocky distraction
Of youthful lust
And clandestine mistakes
I remember you
As I tell my story
To another one of you
Caught in a haze
Of blinding allure
Distracted as ever
I have not grown up at all (more…)
I enjoy solitary walks on the side of the murky
lake with its gluttonous fish and their unthinking feeders.
It’s therapeutic, I tell myself.
The grey-green grass, dew kissed leaves and dark marshy footpath-
They’re all part of the poet’s parcel.
I’m supposed to love these kinds of places.
Some days, I pay the men with the horses exorbitant amounts
so I’d have a pony to pretend was mine.
The ones I got were always ordinary,
ordinary as the dull grey pigeons that shit all over the city
buildings in New Delhi.
In Shillong, the lake is more alive
but the fish have dull eyes as they gather beneath
the bridge, fighting for their bread crumbs
and corn chips.
The water reeks of death
like someone was murdered and drowned
as naive fish watched and waited.