By
Reena Prasad
Mine
I waited for you in a street
brimming with gulmohar tears
and you walked past me
My arms, outstretched
dropped to my sides
and a cry echoed among the trees
unsettling dusk birds
from their sleep-laden nests
setting them all aflutter,
taking my cry to the skies
and a rain fell
made up of sad leaves
“Hey, look at him”
I whisper to the bare tree
“All mine
The lines on his forehead
The loss in his heart
All mine”
But the love in your eyes no longer is
There is a hand in yours
and loveliness pressed upon your shoulders
and pretty lips that can speak
and I possess her
seizing her by her thoughts
till she says the words
surprising you in that reddening dusk
“All mine “
Sense of an Ending
In poems that emerge
from conversations across a virtual table
is a tell-tale aroma of a shared cup
clinks of long-stemmed glasses
chuckles from unfettered liberties
salt from covertly shared memories
and the sense of an inevitable ending
for the ache, the courtship, the conjugation
and the wilderness within a poem
must end with its envoi
or must it?
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