My Stories

I left a part of me
back there
at the doorstep;
my footprints at the gates
and not inside
of your home
away from home.

I left a part of me
in the lanes
of the bazaars
that you frequent,
to buy silver ware and copper wires,
and take me along when I’m 1407 kms
away from where I
should be; with you.

I left a part of me
beneath
the crescent
that overlooks the Maghrib prayer
in a mosque
when the sun has just fallen off the horizon
and the light has
closed its eyes,
to peep as
stars twinkling on the skyline.

I left a part of me
under a canopy
of red bricks
with tales inscribed
on the walls for us to read
and frequent,
hoping that one day
we shall be at the end of a story
worth telling.

I left a part of me
at the station
which is now swarming
with the regulars who sift in and out
oblivious to me standing there,
waiting,
hoping,
yearning,
to finish a journey I started.

I left myself
back there
in the lanes
beneath
a canopy
of unfinished stories
I began writing on the sky
while we walked, in my imagination,
hand in hand.

Unaccomplished as they are
Undone as those twists lie
Halted as the climaxes stay
I lie here
Just as they lie there;
my stories are just as
Incomplete.