rain, city, lovers
i
some
rains have stopped hitting our insides
at
midnight. They
f
a
l
l
in
straight lines
in
the emptiness of
our
hands
without
touching
our
bodies
we
fumble for bad words
beneath
the sheets
some
rains aren’t us anymore
ii
afternoon
rains
tilt
their transparent toes and
stir
the
corners of our square yellow
houses
we
lift our skirts
smell
each other’s sweat
count
the polka dots
on
our thighs
as
we go on long pointless walks
in
the room
outside,
a
rain-girl sips lemon tea
on
the wet street
dimlights
and water-gods watch her in silence
iii
on
rainy nights like this
we
suddenly find ourselves
playing
kuk-lotpi
in
the middle of the night
like
a laimu chasing a laishaabi
you
adore the brownness
of
my skin
that
melts in your mouth
on
rainy nights like this
you
adore the brownness
of
my skin
thatmeltsinyourmouth
iv
evening
pounces on the ugly flyover
at
Nagerjala
we
come home late
fatigued,
indifferent
we
speak of useless things
and
people
teacups,
traffic, tantrums
we
don’t make any sense
we
don’t look into the eyes
we
don’t smell the skins
our
bodies are dead flyovers
our
bodies are cold flyovers
our
bodies stretch
like
flyovers
but
we aren’t forgetful
we
aren’t loveless
our
numbered days
burst
like clouds
to
sing songs of rain
on
empty rooftops
we’re
rainmakers in this hopeless city
kuklotpi: a game of hide and seek
laimu: an evil spirit
laishaabi: a virgin maiden
jaamun
is
the colour of
childhood
that
hangs
like
pegs of memory
little
fingers
stealing
crushing
mixing
a
handful of ripeness
a
purple river
deluging
my
youth
silkworm
butterfly
patterns
on
the wooden loom
a
butterfly sits
on
her head
a
smoke of desires
rises
from
her mud-oven
like
children sleepwalking
to
catch tadpoles
in
rain
she’s
never
woven
a
silk saree
her
starched cotton inaphi
leaves
marks
on the skin
like
silkworm
feeding
on
mulberry leaves
inaphi: a cloth to wrap around the upper body
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