I, THE OTHER
The person walking next to me Does not talk to me, Does not return my morning greeting, He buys the same newspaper, Tears it up in my face, Then walks away to the café To wait for me
Do not surrender to the dust of footsteps; Stay alert, Or else you’ll get hit by a sudden branch, which would hurt,
forcing you to resume Your walking, not knowing where to start, except that You’d have lost that taut pleasure of being in motion: Desire is strongest on both flexed ends Of a bow, when the string is drawn . . .
This road is no longer a road as long as steps are drawn to it.
A GLISTENING LOOK
Her blue, she who leans over her window, Is the inkwell for the one who holds his quill And licks away concealed shapes.
A flower is what appears to him, A fervent anticipation Of a glistening look.
BANIPAL 53 – SUMMER 2015 29