In Between Phases

There was love in phases. Phase I – Korean Cultural Center, Delhi It was wrapped in the kimbap, served with soy sauce on the side – only one had to ask for it. We wanted to hold hands, and keep holding – only one had to ask for it. Love came, saw us with the kimbap, and left, without asking first, empty-stomached. Phase II – Siolim, Goa You would be surprised at what I do for love. It was tucked deep under our bed. We looked for it, begged it to find us; it refused to show – this time, asking did not help. There was a cosmic rendezvous in the sky that night, yet ours remained absent. Phase III – Queen Street Station, Glasgow It was in the seeds we fed the ravens. It is impressive how easily they follow you, it is even more impressive how easily I followed. Goodbye seemed easy; it healed something that I did not realise needed healing – this time, I did not ask. Phase IV – Lumpini Place, Bangkok I remember packing it; it is kept somewhere safe, yet I can no longer find it. Bits of it left in places where it was felt the strongest – no one asked for it. There was love in phases, and in phases where it became a memory.