I press the coins dipped in cold milk over my eyes, whisper the only prayer I learnt in Kindergarten I’m not even religious but I will ask for your hands even from the aeroplanes now
There is no God in Dadri I run between the Kaash grass and spiderwebs to the Fajr an aching mosque sprouting from the Banyan Tree you have come home consumed and crystallised
The God is no longer in Delhi either in your home nor in Galveston Beach in Texas where you shed your winter skin to a thirst swallowing your bones till you could bury the seagull cries in your sleep now you smoke alone at dawn
My fingers fishbones in your hands clamouring for the sea I never told you I can hear from only one ear now and no longer swim not that I ever learnt swimming from the man who drowned me to teach me love
I press the milk drenched coins over my eyes the milk saline in your fingers how do we slope through the largeness of our summers and kneed this loss Goodbye when you have shipped your hands back to your mother ’s womb at all the blinkers in the sky now I ask for you for you
