You sat across the table
in an over-packed cafe
your eyes fixated on my face
just like a lonely wayfarer’s
on a full luminescent moon.
The cafe din was music to our ears,
a background score to our hearts
singing to each other.
You said I hadn’t changed at all,
but you noticed the greying hair
and I noticed, crow’s feet
that looked kind of perfect on your face.
You talked to me for endless hours
like bees do to flowers,
and breeze to freshly warm clothes on clothesline.
Was I high on weed, or high on new love?
You hid a poem for me inside a Hemingway book,
we searched and never found your poem.
I pray that your poem found
a lovelorn, lovesick or a child.
I wish I had found it though
and kept it safe in my heart.
Maybe, not finding that note
was always a sign
of not finding you in the end.
And now I have stopped looking for you.
But I promise to keep your poem
safe with me –
‘You’re a moth that
flew as far as my nose could see;
the light beseeches
you like a winter
would a cherry tree.’
11 May, 2013