Lahore, today by Kushal Poddar

I am not a silent poet

The last time I saw your eyes
they turned mirror, and I read
blaze from the right to left.

Another day to kiss the rubble.
The blasts bubbled.
Those died the other day already stood up.

Some still dusted their being.
Tomorrow
I should knock your door again,
listen to your spoon
playing two cups of tea for me, us.

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