Do you remember you,
Back then, when
I was dating wide awake
Once in a lifetime nightmare: do you
Remember the single plait of your neatly plaited hair?
Oiled and combed back, tightly held in place —
Among “friends forever friends”, in early
University days: and I am
Brought back to reality — the present moment
Of this most vibrant discourse (that I realize
That, watching your hair, I had gone off on a doze):
As you push it back — the fringe — off your forehead
Every two sentences you speak. Or, brush back your hair
— The whole Sai-Babaed thick bush like whole —
Spilling from all sides: a Postmodernist Credit of a Course.
“Friends” listen to you push an erudite point
— And yes: they actually listen, eyes dart —
And you belt out a few names that haven’t arrived here, yet:
And they are right, so we assume, as you are anyways smart.
Only that Plato had told as much about the same things.
Now, it’s my turn to tell why I haven’t flown
And have resigned myself to be a part-time clown.
I run through my script in as few words as I can
And you give me that elaborate, retarded-like nod
Which Lady Mountbatten gave Nehru’s peaked cute cap.
It is your way, I guess, of saying
Oh, is that really so? I understand.
Back then, do you remember — when,
God forbid, that Nightmare I chased
(Promising her Eternity, entreating her to be a Dream),
You told me one day that I was much bigger than that:
That my potential should not be wasted on a woman like her?
Not in the same words, really; but what a sincere,
Genuine thought — I thought back then.
Now, in a different register, in an accent
You had forged somewhere midway, you push back your hair from where
It falls back and say: “You are in vain, you are wasting your life away”.