Delhi and the four seasons
were not well these two years,
the sonajharia trees are dying
and all the auburn flowers are no more serene
along the highways.

You may wonder
what went wrong,
posed like a thinker
or even reclining like sculpture,
you may cry your eyes out:
your crimson, crimson eyes
like the sunsets we remember.

We were lips tongue saline teeth,
we were remembering Delhi
we were raining,
we were the sonajharias,
we were the laughter
evermore crying for the moon
and reaching out to the stars like
our eclipsing eyes, mademoiselle,
you are no more making love,
you no more wear your passion flowers,
you are no more your broken wings.