Winter
Winter has arrived
She gave me a call a week ago
I was not home
I thought to call her back
Is she awake now, I thought
Perhaps I might call her in the morning
By then I could come up
With a funny story
How I missed the train and a cow
Was staring at me
From the other side of the railway track
I overslept
And now
Like the rest of the city
I am lounging under a blue fog
Of desolate memories
Spring
There is no nice hotel in this town,
Said Spring and turned into a hospital bed
I was lying about my sickness for a long time
I never felt better in months
Perhaps I needed attention
Perhaps
Songs that make us happy are always shorter
Than those which make us sad
I realize this and get up in the darkness
Of my own reflection
Spring has nowhere to stay
Her bags are still unpacked
And yet the town has no plan
To build a hotel which won’t look like a sanatorium
Summer
Everything including shame and the last week of April
Is now on bet
The forest that leads to the mountain is so deep
That one can pretend to take rest without stopping
I was walking all morning
My shirt is wet with perspiration and doubt
Shall I ever reach the point from
Where I started my journey?
Will I?
The point is not missing
It has just gone out to collect an old debt
I shall let you know if it returns anytime soon
Then the world will see
And talk about us in whispers till June
Monsoon
The act of disappearing is the easiest
Said the man in black cloak
And disappeared
I sit at the corner of the bar
Holding his hat
Waiting for the rabbit to come
Out anytime soon
It seems the man was lying
Disappearing is difficult when you
Want to do it in the dark
There needs to be some light
Some recognition
That people at least knew
You were here
Otherwise it's too painful
Too stupid
Like announcing your death in advance
And living to see how
A premature monsoon washes off
Your footsteps in the hills
Autumn
The inglorious autumn
Appears in your letters
Like a ship without cabins
Like a soap without foam
Like a face without wrinkles
Like a death without mourning
The inglorious letter
Appears in chapters
Like a house without rooms
Like a dream without reference
Like a storm without centre
Like a story without beginning
It is official now
Delusions are different from dreams
Fall
We were leaning on the railing
And expecting
It was I who told you about the city of Baghdad
How the streets there woke up one morning
And swallowed the caliph like a half-boiled egg
Later they died of indigestion
We were leaning and looking
We were looking beyond our city; our streets
Were supple and hungry
They grew around our legs and started
To tickle our darkness
Later they died of indigestion
We drew a straight line thereafter
And never tried to cross it
Lest we fell
