August Verse

She saw 7 shooting stars

Did she see 7 sprays of heavenly dust hurtling through the sky?

Or did she see James Bond, 007 shooting out of a barrel?

Bullets he PTSD’d as stars?

She saw 7 shooting stars.

Language is like unrequited love, is it not?

One minute you know exactly what it is.

The next minute, you’re left wondering if that was a reflection or a shadow?

She saw 7 shooting stars.

Defining us and ours, around and within.

That child under the city flyover,

Lovingly feeding water soaked biscuits to her toddler brother

A fleeting glimpse of home

I felt, you’d feel, beyond our riches and distances

A symphony of filial love. In that moment.

Much like unrequited love. Unexpected and untold.

Yet, familiar and smelling of home.

Much like language. Spoken beyond words that blend to become one with rain-soaked mud.

Because you may think you are the star in the room

But, perhaps, just this time, it’s not you.

It’s not your loud, vociferous nature that makes everyone come to you.

Perhaps, this time, it’s that little man in the corner.

The one who says less and hunts fervently with his eyes, for a moment of silence.

This time, it’s that man who may have taken my heart away.

Unrequited love and language, are both landmarks and forgotten knickknacks

Much like bookmarks left and abandoned in returned library books.

And this little man and I shared the same bookmarks.

As we looked upon you.

Singing for a room, a treble in your voice, an adoration in the eyes of all

For your gorgeous skin.

The little man and I gulped down that goblet of magnetism for you a long time ago, my friend.

After all, we both saw her see 7 shootings stars.

And in the knowledge that you left us, the bookmarks of the past

Left to mark the very same chapter that you refused to read.

When you returned the library book.

In that knowledge, we let you pass as a dull buzzing crinkle

In the spirits we now guzzle, a sheen of untruths hiding us from you. For all time to come.