Those pearly whites that you brush in the sink as you sing our favourite songs; In that cracked yet enchanting voice rich in memories of every argument we've ever had; Those glasses on your shapely nose thickened over years though it is time for a higher number; The sun glinting off the strands of coconut-oiled smooth hairs: white, grey and black; And that perpetually swelling medicine box shared between us from which I swallow what I see first... You asked for it, didn't you what I liked in you And I had to be honest about it? Of course you have silky black hair, and dazzling eyes, bewitching smile, sweet voice et cetera. Not that I don't like you this way, Of course I do. But when it comes to that... Glad you get the point! Published in Writing Love an Anthology of Indian - English Poetry , ed. Ashmi Ahluwalia; Rupa Publications 2010. ISBN 978-81-29116-66-6.
The message is supreme;
Born in the heart,
and lilting itself
from tongue to tongue,
throwing its scent
over wind and wave;
travelling on dots
or fingers
when blindness
or silence bar its way.
It hews itself into stone
or burns itself onto magnetic discs;
it is the message that lives
and I exist
solely to pass it on.