Saturday, January 7, 2017

Sharing a book with you, courtesy Frank O’Hara
 who must be quite mad at me for borrowing
 his opening lines ever so often,  is more fun
than going through a whirlwind of parties and after-parties,
partly because we had written similar
dedications to each other, partly because
at my age, which is not all much really but I do feel quite old
but not too wise, I have realised how precious
female friendships are, the ones premised on
“saving the world” if you will, one person at a time,
one book at a time,  .
At this stage of my life when I seem to have outgrown most
Of my friends, I am so glad we are exchanging notes
On our lives, the way I used to when I was younger
and had a best friend who I have now seem 
to have lost to time and distance.  
And I would rather share this Delhi winter afternoon
having  a conversation with you, flitting from one topic to another,
to keep rolling the wheel of discourse is the endeavour.
By now we are giddy on wine and ideas, 
and planning backpacking trips through Europe(a cliche?),
also terribly inspired that you have taken up painting again.
And here we are, taking a respite from our newly adult lives,
faltering, bruised but laughing till our stomachs ache.
Because not every poem needs to be a love poem
Nor every muse a paramour.

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