The half-wilted gerbera
caresses the white marble
whispering nothings,
sweet or otherwise.
A low hum from afar
envelopes the cacophony
shifting of chairs signalling every arrival,
departure
and restless waiting
stories heavy in the air
never abating.
The nervous man on the corner table
sips his tea
anxiety colouring every drop
under a half lighted canopy.
Love blooms in some
hands held and abandoned
over a cup or none.
Shuffling feet and miming hands
pause. speak. unpause
A phone call, a text
and another sky
tastes the same cup
or fields a lie.
Butter oozes over toasted sighs
a crisp, steamy rumour
rises and dies.
And here
next to windows too high
and too tall a sky
inky stains appear
on my fingers,
and scrawled words
in the crumpled tissue you held
a moment ago.
A half empty cup
chipped so fine
a few crystals of salt
spilled,
a lull
and a hollow sachet of sugar,
bitter,
fiction,
all that is left of you.

 

Aldeena Raju

Aldeena Raju

Aldeena Raju was born in an obscure town in an obscure state somewhere near the southern tip of India. She studied English Literature at the University of Delhi, India and currently works with an international publishing house in New Delhi. She is also a poet in hibernation who writes short stories as she waits for inspiration to rhyme. She hopes to complete a novel someday and meanwhile makes a living out of editing the words of others and getting cheap thrills out of missing hyphens and misplaced alphabets.

Comments

comments