Arka Mukhopadhyay

Places are pictures:
A somewhere village is a train motionless
On a nowhere morning, and your laughter dancing
On the tracks, grinding the pebbles
Into supernovas. A city is a red and
Blue stab of your departure, a
Platform where I did not help you
Up on to the train, a foggy
Balcony where you did not stand
With me to see the winter’s breath
Turning the buildings, even them
Into Hoysala temples. Himalayan forests are
Winter sunsets we did not make,
Budapest, London, Copenhagen are stages
With too much history where my voice
Never danced to your feet. A map
Is a night train that I am not on,
The universe is a lightless room
With a howling book abandoned on the seventh page
And a sweater that smells of you.