I was tired after a long day.
I had walked long, and yet
had a few more yards to tread.
I had gone through the crowds,
motley faces had danced past me,
bodies waved, in quaint gait of
restive desire.
Through them had I pushed my way,
for I was driven.
There was, I was convinced, a purpose,
that pushed me, drove me.
Wind paced silently, heavy breasted
and cold, along the dark pitch road,
that reflects the gold lamps, even now,
far behind, into my long serpentine oblivion.
I had bought a pen, a notebook, a bag on the way.
I had taken the 1 rupee 50 paise change back.
I was not careful. I as forgetting something.
I searched my pocket, my bag, my purse.
I searched for something on the roads.
I was tired, as you already know,
but I still walked back down the road,
looking for what was lost.
Some asked me, “what did you lose”?
I did not know what it was,
so said I – its something I had since
long, I hadn’t taken a look at it a while now,
so I don’t know how it looks.
But I know its precious.
I looked again, there, at the long
serpentine, dark golden road, sloping down,
to a glimmering distance, from where I came,
I knew now.
There, somewhere along that dark-gold pitch,
I had lost my dream
or she lost me.
I am not sure yet.
