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| Carol D’Souza |
You step out on a mid-week February evening
For a moment, the light catches the shoulders
of the city so familiarly, you know love is not a
myth. Two women with
a decade dozing between
them chat their way up a street as a God in a
corner alcove is surprised into attention by a
passer-by accosting Her with a prayer at dusk.
***
This prayer made stone
In the shade of the Jama Masjid
she and I sit under an awning, gazing.
The transient, milling crowd
throws into relief the mosque's
timeless, majestic bearing.
***
Hiccupping history
Muslim. Islam. Mughal
Rahim. Ram. Ghazal
Lahore and Dilli
Across two recent books, a
newspaper column and a
poetry reading, they pursue me
What are they whispering?
***
Pull
I am no longer tethered to its vicissitudes
And yet, the wax and wane of your mood
brightens and darkens, in turn, a sliver
of my day still held in sway
of its receding pull.
***
Retired
for Garima
On a mild November day
A defunct bus stop vacantly stares
out. A commuter wanders in
by mistake. In surprised haste it stashes
away listlessness. Arranges face
Redirects
them. Then
slumps back again.
***
Bio: Carol D'Souza is a writer and translator based in Chennai, India. A collection of her work can be found at linktr.ee/cblaizd
