Before being wife and husband, we had met
in our town like two suns we had sat together
in an alien home
We had melted in each other's glow
into each other we had leapt
like the boisterous bubbling rivers
In your forehead and mine,
a third eye had opened up
That was the day of our birth
Then one morning you sent a message
Asking for my head
And I had given away
(the head you were to place atop your torso
amidst public gaze)
Two suns sat on a bough one of whom we had
shooed away in tow
From this confluence we had maimed,
bobbed and uprooted a river
the rivers recoiled as shrunken wells
that was the day of our death-knells.
From that day to this we move around
Like a burning pyre of the dead
On the branches of this burning tree
never once did a bird alight
In the glowing shadow of a burning tree
wayfarers no longer found respite
Today, once again, I've received your message
And I cannot understand
how would the two well
engage in a conversation?