Story of inconsistent lanes . . . .

We met on the edge of Pangong lake in Ladakh
Across the mouth of it I found him standing
Gazing at the deep pigment of water
So blue, so green
Colors of love, yet unseen
As if rainbow had cast a shadow on it.

I looked at him
For he was a majestic sketch of god
His eyes which talked probity
And his lips which uttered inclination
To nature so authentic.

Having a wish to study him
I stepped forward
And looked straight
Through his eyes
And I breathed
Like the first time I had
When I felt
Conscious.

Then we met
In the crowd of Hanoi
Terming it as fate
We looked upon each other
And departed
To walk into the lanes of future
Grasping the air
Leaving the souls
To covet ubiquity.

Then we met
In the lanes of Germany
Where the truth was
Where he stayed
Since he was born
In the heaven
Beyond the difference.

It was a feeling so uncanny
That he ran from
Like he didn't want
Our gaze to meet
Like he feared
The arrival of 'his time'.

Then we met
On the Cambridge beach of Bermuda
The aura so exotic
Filled me with passion
To love him grave
The need to touch
The edge of his face with mine
And feel the gasp
Around us.

I flashed at him
Begging for a chance
To make me have his knowledge
To get the alphabets of his beauty
To read the synopsis of his
Image of women.

For a chance was less to thirst for
We met again,
In the city of Florence
On the bed of Leukemia
Where he whimpered
Where I prattled
Without a notice of words known
With an urge to seize the moment
The interval of time where I breathed him
Knowingly,
And he breathed a farewell
Unknowingly.

© Latika Sareen