A Toast
Come, share my ire.
Sit with me, have a drink, spare my silence
the mut(ila)ation of words,
pluck the wistful plucks,
and let’s turn to umber,
reside in earth.
Dawn’s day is done and on its way into night.
What we have here is
my plain broken sentence
strangers
i have seen you at the pause of dusk
when light strays ‘round unevenly
for a bit of luck, the last
bit of sun sifting through leaves
it can still touch, however pale,
the way you brush fingers
through your hair and hold still
i have seen you lying beat
in unassuming corners, end of day
and the weight of the next
slowing your eyes
to a standstill
unwelcome to eyes that won’t look
i have seen you walk a stretch twice
the distance your brittle bones
can take day in day out and wondered
if one of those times you will not turn to dust
and vanish without calling a name
(and should that happen to me if i too
vanish away will you not take my name
before i go?)
i have seen you wading through dimness
when the plaza wears the look of a barren port
where shadows turn into lumps of lead
in the alleys behind Sapphire Suites
basking in its full crimson and
whiff of eau de cologne and stale leftovers
in the moist air, and among them,
scavenging fora place just enough
to rest the head, make a bed
out of rubble stone sand
and look like you were pleased
i have seen you out of rooms faraway
windows snaking between horizons
in the mesh of images around
unforgettable days, of arcades
rooms streets moments
and their shifty shadows
i keep walking back into:
as if one long day reveals to me
a part of itself found only here
Illustration : Suman Mukherjee