i'm always at least almost the same as you.
at most i'm stabbed between the visitors
and the ache like a tusk caught in a sandal tree.
i worried when i saw the headlands of nostalgia
jut into the cracks of sunset before the beads
on the encephalogram of the man dying next
to us turned into ivoried teeth of what i saw
as if blindness were a bed we couldn't afford
at the ikea in raidurg, where we got good
photos, ate bad food, drank limitless coffee.
i want to go back to the time when my body
was your thrift store, my words bartered
and bargained at charminar, my love coming
like the toy gongstriker in the salar jung clock:
disappointingly small and brief, applauded for
being over, and shrouded with a mocking sigh.
~ ajay
1/10/2024
