“You can’t bring that in here”, they tell me
So I leave it at the door
It is ugly but it will keep my dusty slippers company
As I walk among the flowers again,
The jasmine and the kanakambaram
The rose and the saamandhi
Like a broken twig
The earth blushes after the kiss of rain
And is quiet and subdued after the ravishing
Of which I shall know nothing anymore
I have come to scatter the ashes
Of the lover of my soul
This, I must do alone
For the words of sorrow
Are not a chorus
They are simply a monologue
The waves beckon, and for a second
I consider the invitation
But I, “stubborn-as-ever”, as he often said,
I leave only what I came for
“Another time,” I assure the retreating waves.
Gently, my offering drifts away.
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