it’s saturday evening
I lie huddled in my blanket
watch the raindrops
beat against my windowpanes
enjoy the sweet sound of solace
but somewhere around
there is a constant hum
a sort of whisper
a pleading that goes on
to get up, escape
to lose myself in the madness
that’s this city
quiet but not still
the air around is pregnant
with urgency
to pick the phone
to ask a certain someone
what are their plans
heart begs but the mind denies
thinking he thinks of you too
is a fool’s desire
look at you, I say
feeling miserable
but the heart doesn’t care
just this once, it says
it has stopped raining
nippy is the air
I pick up the phone
Care for a coffee? I send
It’s dancing already
reminds me what I should wear
and how later
pretentions can help
‘That’s not how it works’ I reply
‘Sure, it does. Let me show you how.’
the banter goes on for hours
exhausted, I doze off
half the night is gone
the heart’s silent now
‘Want some coffee?’
the poor chap nods
I set up the Frenchpress
feeling sorry for its hopes
the coffee I brew is extra dark
to wash off the bitterness
the yearnings had left
to end the evening
and finally, the wait
Asha Seth 