Senses

​​Only

a ray of light

was quicker

than the glance

which she gave me

in the library;

the thousands of books

inside 

had no record of 

the moment.

The chapati
bakes

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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s