I can't tell you how half measures
crowded my life after you left.
Always on the brink of this
or that, if the messages I typed
...
I’ll remember you
as the slow Akshardham sunset
that emptied me one final time
...
You unwelcomed me with fog
on a blinding night
hurrying into history
like the feet of your ghaats
...
These are elemental fires
Stoked by the unspoken
Where the night’s forehead
Emotes every half a second
...
Would it be better
if every new thought were in the most obvious relation to the last.
Like saying "eight" after counting to seven
or "Churchgate" after a breathless "Grant Road-Churni Road-Marine Lines"
...