The Topography of Absences / Dee

the koyal lost her way
today
myriads of bricks
the one she had marked
north-east and homeward bound
was replaced by iron girdles
to erect an attractive young
mall
with its circus and water park
shopping all you can under one roof
circular your walk shall be
getting heavier with the laden bags

the koyal  lost her way today
not a headliner
but she lost her home
she is often seen at the rooftop
of the Galleria
crying out for home

the woodpecker’s left the garden
you miss its pecking the earth
leaving its mark all over-
in patches of presence

a child kissing your warm cheek
before leaving for school
the skin misses that one moment
filling your being
in completeness unmatched

the flowers wither
the vase sits empty
first on the counter
and then
you tuck it away at the back of                                           a cupboard
               where  nanos
cutlery catches Times ticking away
wrapped in cotton and love-
memories and dreams
of a good life for
the daughters of the family

has the moon seen the sun-
met it in its circular continuum
maybe they do
when the sun sets
in its arms
and the moon
tears its way through

absences scattered across the room

youareclenchingtohold

the kiss fades
the longings stretch
the decisions change the way you will                                          wake
to an incessant alarm clock
5 sets of alarms
each marking the first time
you began waking
to digital good mornings-
do you miss being woken
to the warmth of a slumbering
woman
lying half aware of your breadth
half of hers

sift the necessary from the urgent-
file upon file
the buildings bursting at their seams
clocking progress with the precision
of the electoral incumbency
motive lost
mission accomplished
the green and the white flies
idly on the buildings

absences scattered over
dominions of vainglory

speckled blue on blue
days
stack
     over
  days

days
of
  a
     b
       s
          e
             n
                c
                   e
                      s

collateral damage
of wars that fought us
the edge of graveyards breach
lives unloved
home interrupted
with a call to tell you

absence is permanent.

Dee is from Lahore, Pakistan. Loves dark nights and old trees.

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