Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Another song for a broken heart.

By riversides we sat together, by benches with readers and lovers.
Sometimes you'd get up to paint on stray canvases.
My perfume on your sleeve.

"I want to put mehndi on my hands."
"I love mehndi. Put it on mine too."
"No."
"I went to this wedding and I almost touched the bride's hands to know what it's like."

You laughed.
"That's by far the most sophisticated puff I've ever seen. You take the sleaze out of smoking."
You never told me to stop, though you hated the way it tasted on my lips.

My ankles gave way as I tried to run on our track alone. I screamed at myself for even thinking of Twix when I had so easily let go of you.
On the edge of the bridge, I stood for an hour in the clawing rain, our rain.
"We don't say things most things because we don't want people to know we want to say them."
I wish you had said those things while there was still time.
"I think I should stop saying things which I don't want people to know but I want to say."
"Don't write to me in that tone. I can feel it."
"We know each other too well."
What undotted i's meant, why you would say Thank You with two capital letters, when there would be two fullstops after your name.
I can smell my city's soil in the rain tonight. Like a gladiator who is about to die does.
He looked at me with hollow eyes as I walked away.
I won't leave you, you promised.
I won't cut my hair, I promised.


The cruise we were meant to take when you'd come, the ship lay in distress. There would have been champagne and moonlight and the brush of your knee against mine.
Remember those acrylics I said I'd buy for you? The set of eighteen in the exquisite wooden box by Van Gogh's shadow, I had bought them already.

"You make people cry."
"I'd say I'm pretty good at it."
"I wrote a letter to you, sent it two weeks ago."
The only one who could make me cry for the right reasons.

I remember our last conversation.
"Your letter.. "
"I have no words tonight."
"I'm moving out in ten days."
"Where to?"
"I don't know."
"My phone will be permanently switched off."
You smoked with your eyes closed. There was a hurt in your words.
"I'm so, so sorry."
"Shhh... I love you."
I called out your name, for the very last time.
"Yes?"
"I love you."
"Stay with me for a while."
"Tell me you won't wait, because then I'd know I have nothing to come back to."
"I won't."
And we sat in silence, till we turned to vapour and dust, till we disappeared.

I wish you had fought with me for me.



Remember those blood kisses from long, long ago? I don't know what they meant then, don't know what they mean now.
The hours changed quickly, and moods, and people. Remember how he asked, what made me weep with him.
Ze mujnoon yum te may junoon ye.
Je rubab yum, te mein shehbaz yea.
Ze naghma yum, te mein saaz yea.
Ze parwana yum te may parvaaz ye.


I was the one who walked away, after I made you promise you wouldn't.
A set of new paints lay with fruit peels in the garbage.
I'm not coming back, love. I'm waiting for you to come back.



4 comments:

  1. I seem to have a morbid fascination for such posts. Well expressed

    ReplyDelete
  2. 'I can smell my city's soil in the rain tonight. Like a gladiator who is about to die does.'

    Beautiful :)

    'I'm not coming back, love. I'm waiting for you to come back.'

    And that, I have felt.

    ReplyDelete
  3. 'I wish you had fought with me for me.'

    -Sighs-

    ReplyDelete