So, it doesn’t have to end.
The sun kissed lanes
Between your fingers
The valleys, the cotton-candy spring
Gliding down your crevices.

Surely, it didn’t have to end.

The mid-march battle-math.
The soft brazen destiny
In your palm,
Fistful wishes
Wishes feasted upon.
Roma, it didn’t have to end.

It didn’t. It didn’t.
Perhaps, it did?
( Nonsense! )
The waggy tailed
Insatiable letters
Mock me.

Pink world
Red leaved; narrow black mist
Whistling whisking into a pulp
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Roma, they mock me.

I painted my nails
The colour of the sky
The stars are you Roma-
Calming the nooks and
corners of me. Panjabi
pockets of sun-burnt
flowers; glimpses of
half-kissed afternoons.
I’m drowning in the by-lanes.

Roma, did it have to end?
Perhaps it didn’t.



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