In another town, another
place, I saw You
unexpectedly; for a time
with a toothless grin, and then
with elegance wrapping You round, You
sat with such poise and then gone – again.
And then Your trace graced my glance
racing to catch You on mother’s
lap in rickshaw.
But no. No one is fast enough to
snag You, let alone bag You.
In market’s noise, in traffic’s throes, in
India, You slip between like the child
You are, running your father’s errand – You
skirt past me, again and I, I