i'm the third-- the third
kilometer, the third wheel;
somehow it feels as if i belong.
i'm different to them, but still one.
the three of us, laying facing up
staring at a night sky imperfect
and not beautiful, not the
post card stars we see still but
c l o u d s o f p o l l u t i o n
illuminated by the artificial ambers
of a bustling asian city
we stare at the clouds, lying in
silence, till i break it. a random fact,
that the clouds we saw as close were
three kilometres away.
a memory i
doubt they remember,
but immortalise in these words, words
we were stupid, are still young
we splurged not on poisons
but on jokes,
ironic water costing limbs.
we splurged not on the
clubs and drinks
but on snacks in the
sorethroats gone from our worries
i was third kilometre, now
three thousand kilometres
away from them. i thank the
orange clouds of pollution and
the plastic grass we had slept
on that i'll be the third
kilometer once again,
we wait for october.
part of a collection of poems about going to visit my friends again.