My tanned lover

On such immense evenings
When poetry denies me
its words, its rhythm
With a whimper I recoil back
Envious of the words on your lips
Envious of the words on your pages
I go back to my wooden book rack
Bought on impulse
with my lover
one autumn dusk
It was the color of my lover
Tanned with the Newar sun
He had age behind him
I cling to his anecdotes
I have life ahead of me
He clings to my laughter

On such immense evenings
When poetry denies me
its words, its rhythm
I read the lines on his face
I read the map on his back
I knew he was an endless poem
The rhythm of Beas Kund
I had emptiness behind me
He clings to my anecdotes
He had happiness ahead of him
I cling to his heady brew

On such immense evenings
When poetry denies me
its words, its rhythm
I deny poetry my pen
And I read my lover with my hands

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