a ray of light

was quicker

than the glance

which she gave me

in the library;

the thousands of books


had no record of 

the moment.

The chapati

on the black tava

gets dark patches;

puffs up

like my heart when she coils

the end of her hair

on her finger.

The thick blue smoke

from the cheap cigarettes

fill the air

of my room;
forms her image

which I see.

Only opium to cure my senses.

The Reducing Number of Women

Stray cats


Haunting the naked streets with

Their dark grey eyes.
It’s past midnight

And the street lamp –

Bright yellow –

The black bins,


Tumble in the alleys.

Rotting apples,

Roll out in the shadows.
The stench of rotting garbage

Kisses the still, hot air

Of the night.
Women in glittery, golden dresses

Roam the street;

Car’s stop;

Car’s start;

The women reduce in number,

Only to arrive again.