A few days back, unplanned,

I let the wheels decide.

Between the road I often take,

and the one going to the left.

Between the life lived on the main street,

afraid of the lane that leads nowhere.

We only had one room.

We were poor then.

We grew up sleeping to the snore of my father,

And the tinkle of my mother's bangles in our dreams.

We were assigned a space and told to move,
standard quarters, designated by a type.
Sorted neatly by the count of their rooms,
and the precise curtilage enclosing them.

I've built this city.

I remember it before it had roads and houses.

I remember laying the foundations of many,

as if it were only yesterday.

We friends built our houses in a cluster

on plots adjacent to each other.

So, we could meet, talk, share sugar, share power-cut woes,

and spend the rest of our lives huddled together.

That corner tea stall.

Where that uncle, whose name I never bothered to know,

sneaked a smoke before sipping his first tea of the day.

We buy peace with loaded chambers

and call it a truce.

After levelling the muzzles at the place

where olive branches once grew.

In that secret nook of my heart,

where darkness reigned,

I hear your approaching footsteps,

as if you are coming to light a lamp.

My eyes avoid meeting yours now,

My mind goes berserk and boils over,

My core shrinks and soul cringes,

My body wants to run away,

My once caring hands rise involuntarily to choke you,

Every time you come nearby.