Then there are such nights that drive home the point
of the choices you made;
The path you began walking
much before you sat down tired under this leafless husk.
The water bottle long empty,
the heart long estranged,
the next mirage only a breath away at the market of lingering hope.
You haggle with serendipity;
she offers nostalgia in little packets of new love.
The ambience is perfect, they have sprayed rain smells around.
“Verboten! Verboten!” you cry to yourself,
as is empty ritual now.
Cosy in the room of rented dreams,
you roll your newfound treasure
in the leftovers of a forgotten honeymoon.
You light it with the warmth of your first coitus.
You breathe in. Deep.
You watch your heart holes leak smoke.
A beautiful morning beckons.
You stuff your familiar half-spent libido in your pockets marked To-do.
It is time to continue on your path to nowhere.
At least, no one has to walk it with you.
*Verboten – Prohibited.
Anish Vyavahare has been running a poetry community in Thane, Maharashtra for a number of years. But he has started writing only recently. He likes to cook, ride his bike, stargaze, eat, and sleep, in no particular order.