Just a brief walk with you down the gravel path
around the square bathing in the hues of gold and pink,
a brisk touch of fingers, a few words, a long patch
of silence, and an amused look in your eyes
when I danced in bare feet. Nothing more than that I had.
So in the noisy bar, all the passion that
I thought I lost forever came rushing back to my cheeks.
Your warm breath on my neck disturbed the dead past
– drunk, we loved each other once again.
For a short while. A plain desire glowed in my eyes
as your hand trembled softly on my thigh. The evening
unfurled between our hearts like a veil of smoke.
Somewhat longer than I expected.
Nothing more than that I had.
A mere evening. And the mere comfort of your body.
I never claimed that I write poems. But I do write pieces where words sit together. He bluntly pushed me aside n said you are trying too hard to…I was DISCOURAGED to write by someone…one moment I felt like removing this space…but something stopped me, “I am attempting. I am not writing”..I am unlearning myself. I am removing those paper-clips in my life and archiving those evenings, those nights, those tales I read…let me start with more fervor. what I write could be rubbish, the junk of my heart, let my space be a backyard…umm!