I brush my hair in the golden morning sun.
Wafting around me the sweet scent of jasmine.
I hum that song of lament once again
as I make the pleats of my silk Saree in line.

Frustrated, I break myself free.
Holding tight the birdcage within, I roam
with some loose words in my purse,
leaving moonlight and butterflies far behind.
Life is a distant memory, Love is not everything,
just a mere ghost that haunts me all around.

Late that night, I call you.
It could be any other night, too.
You answer the phone this time,
how unusual!
Not knowing what to say, I stutter “Did you eat?”
“Uh… yes.” I pause. You confess.
“She cooks lamb well.” Honest as always.
Like when you skipped your vitamin tablets,
like when you slept with that other woman,
or something as silly as that.

“How are you?” you inquire as if you have to.
“Wonderful! Got all these lovely flowers and
adorable pets. It is so heavenly…”
I go on, not hearing
the clinking of ice dropping
in to the glass
or the giggles
of your friends pouring over it.
Or, it could be just her.

You don’t know what to say either
and you make meaningless sounds
hoping to mean something.
And then you burp. Loud and long.
You still don’t excuse yourself.
I hang up.

Now, here in this adorable heaven
amidst all these pigeons and parrots
or kittens or peacocks or mice
I begin to write after a long time.
That sour alcohol burp of yours
gave me a poem.