A torrent of rain washing away
My stifled humid baggage of dirt
A pair of kind eyes
Loud laughter, the kind that fills the room
And puts you at its centre,
Strong arms around my shoulder
And a shy corner glance
A torrent of rain pouring on my hair and his beard
We're leaving our pasts behind us in a rush.
He doesn't know the difference between
Aashchi and jachhi
I don't know what he means by most things he says.
He gives me a piece of his heart
And I carve my name on it, quick and anxious,
Our fingers coiled around a Tagore song
We take each step away from our heartbreaks
Chanting the psalm of moving on.