A cold smile brews like a spasm
Through a love,
Static in its undecision.
If I could paint a flower, why would I paint it blue?
Delhi rides in autorickshaws, and
We slice through the winter wind, sharp
I keep moving, on from you
Only onwards.
Only a new day. Only if.
A quaint film, a lovely dinner
The city paints its scenes
I pour out my heart, like wine,
They come and take a whiff.
Grabbing joy at a picnic green,
A ribbon drops from my palm
Could I leave myself?
My heart?
My sighs?
The crowd will keep me warm.