In the Silence, We Knew

Clad in his crisp kurta

with just a hint of pink—

a pink stolen

from the flamingoes I once saw

gliding the altiplano laguna of Chile—

Keep an eye on that- I, he said.

The morning—

part-chill, part-lukewarm light,

whispered over the hills.

We sat in a trance,

not letting any breath fall.

Nestlings called from afar,

soft paws padded nearby,

and deep within,

we vowed—

never let the I

outgrow the We.

Thirty-three evenings went by.

I went by.

Trying to gather cloud-letters

from the plains

and send them to those dusks

that had long gone by

and do not will to come back soon.

And then—

when the light grew faint,

and darkness wrapped itself around

the edges of my senses

a voice arrived—

lightning-like, prophecy-like,

familiar in its warmth:

"Kaise ho? Kya kar rahe ho?

Main to bas squash khelke

ghar wapas ja raha hoon..."

It struck warm.

We chuckled, remembering:

"Kaise din the na woh?

Sanjana bol rahi thi—drugs leke aaye kya?"

Laughter spilled,

like water over stone—

a rhythm only

our shared silence knew.

From when We

knew how to hush the I.

Now, light fades

into dark—

only to be born again.

We roll

through dry leaves,

over barren branches,

clinging to the faith

that green will return.

And so—

the I, little by little,

drowns in the rising tide

of all the I-s that once were,

now woven into the We.

In the purple of sunset,

on the rolling hills,

I watch

as We

keep singing the song,

dancing the waltz,

sharing the pearl,

fighting the fight,

loving all the fractured selves

into wholeness.

And still—

that voice echoes...

from that distant morning,

where kindness

was sacred.

And We—

we were sacred too.