by Avishek Gupta
Hundred miles far off I am afraid,
That she might be once again
In my room of scented memories.
Maybe she is listening to
The clatter of raindrops on the windowpane.
Maybe she is mesmerized?
Which month is it?
Which part of the day?
She has even forgotten my name.
Shifted souls know tears are in vain,
Time has elapsed indeed?
Sweetly through a fishing net.