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.
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