Pul Bangash Trees

Pul Bangash tress,

running behind the metro seats.

To steal a glance,

a window seat I prance.

The soundproof metro doors, make

your afternoon melodies go underboard.

Distanced by a glassed transparency,

you peek-a-boo with an inconsistence.

I see you every day, between

Kashmere Gate to Kohat Enclave.

Familiar amidst the strange passengers;

losing your sight is the only danger.

Eyes yearning to touch, skin longing

to clutch. Trying-failing, failing-

trying to photograph, instead stacking

a series of blur yellow-green contrast.

Here I am, a daily commuter,

writing hopelessly—yet hoping

that one day, the clouds will shower
these lines during Delhi rains.