A Second Glance

But we won’t meet again-
At the corner of Panbazar
In some obscure joint
With prying eyes, trying
To interpret your yawns
The walls captured
By celebrities, gods, kids
The paint coming off
Crumbling, flaking.

But we won’t meet again-
Pretending it was an accident
Just another déjà vu day
Shake hands, and share
A steaming cup of tea
In shining steel tumblers

We won’t meet again
Over a plate of cheap fare
Raunchy numbers playing in the air
As you scan the menu
The various offerings,
Lined in neat, spaced rows
Like whores on a filthy street

It’s been a long long time
Twenty five Sundays have passed
Since we’d last met
Your lips trembling, a smile
Falling over, the corner
Of your lips, red and lustful
Twenty five Sundays have passed
And the incessant rain
Of time, my dear
Has washed away the castle
We’d built on the Banks of the Brahmaputra
Brahma, the progenitor of creation...
Is he responsible....
For us not meeting?

But we won’t meet again!
I would gladly give up
My stubborn gait,
My early morning frown, if-
We happened to meet, and
We could go
For one last time; this time
In a fancy place
But I’m pretty sure
We won’t meet again
Maybe we had forgotten
The last time we met
To extract a small, insignificant
Promise...from each other.