National Poem Writing Month ’22: 20. Mon Ami…

The river, we imagine life as thus, was summer ones as those days were to us. The city used to be battlefield as we traverse and conquered one after another territory. We were the musketeers without a third one. Slowly the banks ate up by the river. We depart promising nothing. Hope we hold naively; we’ll meet again.

The island, I imagine workplace as thus, was first discovered by me. I settle but he was trying. I went deep up the serpentine staircase rising and falling then and now. He, my dear friend, was besides me as I lament and curse the life abandoning the one I dreamt of. Poet. Author. Litterateur. Slowly the banks were ate up by the river. We depart promising nothing. Hope we hold naively; we’ll meet again.

The noon was monsoon, I recollect as. We were at museum. He stopped at The Passing of Shah Jahan. A facsimile. And (he) sighs. He gazed Taj Mahal. Me Shah Jahan. Jahanara Begum as Monalisa smile. She’s there but not to us. We exchange–Taj Mahal for me and Shah Jahan for him. In the end we look at The Lady. I had one that time. Not him. Slowly the banks disappeared; the river widened. We depart promising nothing. Hope we hold naively; we’ll meet again.

We should have made promise

to meet again?

How wide the river spread,

we should have been musketeers?

Or is this what–

river is?

life is?

–xx–

Note: Dedicated to a dear friend who has been with me since school days and with whom I had a conversation couple years back or so before he stopped talking with me completely. Reason I’m still unaware of.

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