Full of foliage
the gulmohur is on the verge
to deliver a message of condolence.
The lake of monsoon has begun to swell
to herald the Great Deluge
sparing only me and my melancholy.
Sunny days have gone out of stock
not to be replenished for a millennia.
But life would continue
to exist as a curse forever.
Now that no one knows her whereabouts
there remains this glimmer of hope.
Heaven is a politician’s promise
for a better tomorrow – a myth.
But hell is not.
Dreams and memories
are the only privileges
that remain untouched.
(After writing the poem I was reminded of the famous classic Bollywood number: chalo ek baar phir se ajnabi ban jaye hum dono.)