In the market square
In an unfamiliar day on an
Hour not usual for either of us,
As I sat with the vendor of
Dried fish, talking politics,
As I turned my head for a moment’s space,
There, you walked by us,
Stopped for a minute, with time enough
Just to say a Hi.
Your eyes met mine, Jeevana,
And in your eyes I saw the need to say more.
Your lips tightened, as if in a hurried kiss,
And what my face betrayed, Jeevana,
I do not know. Then, you reluctantly moved on.
Turned around and moved on, as you had to go.
So, I turned back to the vendor of fish,
And continued on the subject of politics.
But, you woman whose warmth I know, of you I wanted more.
The urge is too real, Raadha,
To tell the world who you are —
To admit to you that it aches inside not to
Take you, to rip your clothes,
To meet your yearning eyes with mine and to
Slide it deep inside. And to push it an inch more,
To inhale your sigh.
While we sit taking our sugared tea,
The silences intervening.
Your eyes – there is a tension which I
Think is the half-hearted call of the
Desired, still wavering.
But, only if I could tell you,
That the only tea I need is brewed in you,
That is need not be sugared, that it
Need not be as thick as this: that
There’s only one plunge I have in mind
As we make the smallest talk
On irrelevancies and topics that
This tension cannot bear.