Like trees violently shaking in the breeze
and being torn apart uncontrollably,
we drift away.
At the bus stop,
the night slips away with no justification.
rain batters down on the windows
to silence the screams of an infant
who could not be put to sleep
with lullabies tonight.
Helplessness rises through the veins
as the minutes tick by
to ask an urgent question
but demand no intervention.
On nights such as these,
when the parched city
would tremble at the touch of rain,
I used to hold you once
like a mad man gently shaking in the breeze.
I would once map the veins of the city in the rain
and watch the deluge drown in your eyes.
What would I not?
deadlines, appointments and interviews
leave no dilemma of choice;
even a smile requires a moment’s rebellion,
and even the rain
will not bring a miracle
of love or poetry tonight.
There’s nothing but emptiness tonight,
and amid the rain
just two drenched souls
looking at opposite ends,
and nervously fiddling with their phones,
waiting for their Uber to come.
[Click here to listen to Utsav Basu’s voice rendition of the poem.]