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The Poet’s Eye<br />
to desire<br />
blossoming in the night’s<br />
thick bracing air.<br />
Then, like a unexpected<br />
passing train, all is left<br />
aborted with a knife-slice —<br />
a sudden flash of thoughts<br />
of your past loves —<br />
loves that soured, perhaps.<br />
In this courtyard’s horseshoe —<br />
the air is full of wine-lipped<br />
fragrance, of raat-ki-rani<br />
and jasmine, of prayers calls<br />
that affirm love’s gem-glint,<br />
love that is natural<br />
as an age-old friendship.<br />
Nearby, muezzin cries<br />
merge with temple chants<br />
with Gurudwara prayers,<br />
with constant clatter of tracks —<br />
fast trains hurrying past<br />
Maihar Railway Station<br />
that lie publicly<br />
beyond this private
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