The Affair Poem by Nishant Ohri

'Delhi has been nice to me, ' she said

I agreed- some get laid, or else, get paid

Her distaste for ambiguity was apparent

She did not fancy it at present


The marinated milieu of our meeting

Provided the recipe for a tasteful augury

'The last thing I want is to be caught cheating'

She said, ending the nausea of threshold


There was nothing to say beyond that

Too much of wit is exhausting

Atheism was in doldrums

With a prayer at its edge, hanging


It was a bungled medley of mishappenings

There is real peril in such incandescent pleasures

Paralleled only by the first sneaky cigarette

And stultified, eventually, by its casual frequency.


With calm passivity she looked at the cup

Gaze distantly stuck in its lukewarm swirls

While I wandered in the dreams I had borrowed

From slumber over her shiny dark curls.

They will always tell you to be safe

And behave.


Some things almost work
Almost.