our shadows mature
faster than us,
curve towards the light
edges sharp fringes of
empty pomegranate shells
and even when the night consumes them
they wait beside us.

looking back
we were a myth
children,
playing marbles in the street,
speaking softly as if
words could build a marriage.

an obstacle
they said of the mountain
its white peak piercing
moonlit tapestry trembled
against the stone,
their complaints nothing but twigs
in feasting campfire.

yesterday I saw you.
today only your scent remains.
tomorrow, that too will vanish.

you said
the ache for home rumbles in your chest.
I tried to sooth it with words
in the absence of medicine
or a plane ticket.

when you left I moved,
became an immigrant
and I understood what it meant
to live without living.

I forgo the mall mehndi,
the astrologer on his maroon cushion,
order from the pani puri wala
a samosa and small talk -
for a moment
we breach liminality
but then I owe him thirty rupees
and I go alone,
sitting safe from summer heat
snack untouched.

I wait for the monsoon and hope
you will return for the mangoes,
perhaps then I can tell you
everything I meant to say
yesterday.

in this scorched, sun-baked season
we prayed for rain
and when it came
summer heat blazed
as if blooming,
polyester chaffed against
cotton, against skin sticky.
we filled our teacups with humidity
and decided the earth
knew itself better
than we.

From the desk
her spine creaks,
each rubbery cartilage
like a phone pole.
each breath realigns
bone and belief  
she types away her thoughts
knuckles thinking faster than
brain cells, and with clacks.
it’s only been four hours,
starting into screen light
she wonders when she’ll see the sun.

how many rapes jokes does it take
to be funny?
he knows the answer is none.
no one had to tell Amnon
the sin in taking Tamar,
nor was Duryodhana confused
when he patted his thigh
mocking Draupadi,
nor Dusshasana dumb
when attempting to disrobe her.
yet you chant
men need to understand,
to read and watch
our unending torment
to understand evil.