Dear Friend, Do You Know 

We bid adieu late, quite late. 
The waves our wrists birth
criss-cross, propagate 
through the underpasses, 
the women of the street 
leaning against the leftover pillars
of love that throbs every time 
a heavy car passes. 
Two religious parades 
slice through each other.
For one moment the firmament 
is a fair maiden and then 
it becomes a jealous neighbour 
stealing a glance 
of the clock tower brighter than it.
We are already far apart.
The train misses me.
The bus takes you home. 
The rail bridge has a ballad now.
I am stuck in its quatrains.

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Kushal Poddar
Picture Nick Victor

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