Consume

Hurried glances, a passing touch
Eyes that look away and say
so much.

Palpable tension in a shared space
Condensed lust packed
in a suitcase.

A stolen kiss, a picture bait
Tingling skin, restless
to satiate.

Private rooms abet a stormy thresh
Broken beds, and sweaty
flesh.

Tender goodbyes, lives resume
Till it again gives in,
to consume.

Reaction

I broke
me,
And I broke
us,
When you broke
free of
us.

The shards still
rankle,
and bleed the nimble feet
of my memory of
us.

We are together now
in body and spirit
and child,
Ghosts of your great love
haunt
every jaunt we
inhabit, as
us.

I write this, smiling
at the rain that
pours and lines
my skin
as you exist in you lover's
thoughts and lust
and in real life, in
us.

Tu kisi rail si

Sarmistha coughed with abandon. After all what were a few more germs in this smog filled city. Propriety be damned. She was covered with grime and dirt, that accompanied a visit to the local supermarket these past few weeks. The supermarket premises were undergoing some sort of bridal renovation in anticipation of Diwali. It involved much concrete breaking apart and old bricks being taken out to make way for new ones.

"Typical," thought Sarmistha. "Celebration preceded by breaking, followed by a bevy of bills."

The walkway leading up to the supermarket had parted to reveal the precariously dangling electric mains, just beside the leaking pipe mains, waiting to come together in a very municipal blaze of glory. Sarmistha had managed to walk around this dystopian ditch with two bags laden with groceries.

Just as the bout of coughing ended, an auto-rickshaw pulled over beside her. She haggled and got the fare down to its usual rate - 20 rupees more than it actually cost. The auto started off with fervour, only to be held hostage by the traffic cop's outstretched hand.

"Damn, I am going to be late again."

Tu kisi rail si guzarti hai,
Mai kisi pul saa... thartharata hoon.

----

"Yahan pe cigarette peena mana hai... "

The six foot two giant glared at him. "I am going to get punched. Again," thought Vidyut. As his hands instinctively went up to protect his face, the man stubbed out the cigarette, threw it on the floor and walked away. Vidyut picked the stub up and looked at it. It was yellow, bent and warm. "A measure of personal rebellion or a glamourized suicide note? Maybe both. After all, rebellion is often suicidal."

Vidyut threw the stub away and checked the time. The bus was no where to be seen. The chaotic jumble of people at the bus stand was pulsating with mundane life. The enveloping cacophony of car horns, rumbling engines, hawker calls, cell phone conversations were all its bastard offsprings - begot without thinking and  cast off the next moment. 

Vidyut elbowed his way into the crowd of people waiting to board the bus, as it appeared at the horizon. The mad rush for that first foothold on the bus steps left him panting. At least, he had boarded.  He checked his cellphone again.

"Late by 30 minutes. Still no message."

Tu kisi rail si guzarti hai,
Mai kisi pul saa... thartharata hoon.

----

... to be continued ...