You could have a big dipper   

wisteria in spring by Adrija Ghosh



tonight the moon hangs in the sky,

a solitary fanush over the curzon gate,

lone ranger lighting up ranigunj chowmatha, where if you stand still

you can hear the train rattle through this sleepy silent town,

and sometimes i think i am still on a train to glasgow.


what does it mean to indulge someone?

you got time to kill? yeah.

coffee? why not.

i remember getting on your big black bike, always headed for nowhere.

do you remember me?


it rained mid-afternoon,

uncharacteristic of delhi,

i had a plane to catch (the first of many)

and we watched pakeezah in bed.

meena kumari dancing in a pink palatial mansion,

she moves like water drop on a lotus leaf;

her body smeared in henna green,

her eyes wistful,

and i remember thinking

medusa nautchgirl

when she dares her audience to never stir;

and we were both young, pious,

foolishly stir-crazy in my small bed,

an afternoon stolen from a lecture on fowles.


will you wait for me?

i have brought back 75 kilograms worth of memories from scotland,

and none of them smell like you.

will you write to me?

will you tuck a kiss between my toes?

begging was last resort, never a pastime,

but you moved your tongue in sugarcoat on ten thousand places, all of them being one single

mouthful of drowsy afternoon.


swollen lips, clutching a papercup of steaming hot foam,

you call out my name and i am reminded of the hans vandekerckhove (bar bricolage, oil on

canvas) that you love so much.

the colours remind you of october when the city turns into halloween orange and i know the

night isn't over yet,

and i wonder if it is enough.

(it was)


i have been growing bonsai in your hair,

and all over you, alone.

baby, do you hear the train? mine or yours? it is just a train stop away.

central station? the green one?

king’s cross, platform eleven - i missed the train to london because the one guarantee i fail at is

farewell.

do you think the greatest love stories which are never written- (oh, like mine and yours?)

always begin, pause, and end on a rail-track?

no need to get down. no need for movement.

baby, you are always moving. baby, i am moving away.

baby, when you wake up and look at me in the morning through your long black lashes,

your eye is wisteria in spring

and i have to practice breathing once again.



Adrija is a multilingual poet from India working mostly with themes intersecting gender, class, language, space, and sexuality

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