the inescapable

cynicism wondered

at the mournful victory -

what was the point?

trapped

i want to bury you in silent shame
but the rules of the game say
i cannot vote against myself.
you are not worth breaking a rule.

for one more day

say you will stay.
humour me.
let us live the lie
if only for one more day.
and when tomorrow morning
my roving hand finds 
your side of the bed empty
it would be 
the truth i should have woken up to
a long time ago.

passing time

garrulous minutes
fill a lonely hour.
Nostalgia.

a memory

A silent memory speaks to me. "I wish to go", she says. "Its time", they say. I nod and untie the little knot at the end of my dupatta. I hear her fly in a hazy sigh.  And yet what is it that lingers in the creases of the dupatta whose ends remain entangled long after?