Shafeeq Valanchery |
|
Remains
From the many tales you left me,
Of the books, chairs, pipes, sights from terraces and sounds of owls,
Of the fish, and the drain, and the leaf with ants to the monsoon lands,
Those by the sea, or amidst the permanence-threatening stains,
Those at the street, and devised in smoke,
I have made a rail map.
A bright yellow for the happy ones – your chuckle and feigned anger
A red for ones of warning – your waning words and distraction
The green ones are passed by – the playful provocations for a personal pronoun
The brown ones for those of blood – I lent a few words there,
And,
While I am still out in shoes I should have left behind
Afraid of its stink, embarrassed by its marks,
Puzzled by its name wrought as if in an after-thought,
And you, by the cloud and hail and rainbows, and leaves that turn yellow,
And everything else that I miss,
Tell yourself a few facts of life,
I wish,
Somewhere between us
The barbershop that pronounced us,
Would become a spot on the blue line.
From the many tales you left me,
Of the books, chairs, pipes, sights from terraces and sounds of owls,
Of the fish, and the drain, and the leaf with ants to the monsoon lands,
Those by the sea, or amidst the permanence-threatening stains,
Those at the street, and devised in smoke,
I have made a rail map.
A bright yellow for the happy ones – your chuckle and feigned anger
A red for ones of warning – your waning words and distraction
The green ones are passed by – the playful provocations for a personal pronoun
The brown ones for those of blood – I lent a few words there,
And,
While I am still out in shoes I should have left behind
Afraid of its stink, embarrassed by its marks,
Puzzled by its name wrought as if in an after-thought,
And you, by the cloud and hail and rainbows, and leaves that turn yellow,
And everything else that I miss,
Tell yourself a few facts of life,
I wish,
Somewhere between us
The barbershop that pronounced us,
Would become a spot on the blue line.
