Suddenly Found

By accident
I stumbled upon
a torn page
of an old poem.
 
From its brittle script
I plucked
a few dry letters
and dipped them
into ink.
 
The color was green—
it must have been spring
at the edge of the earth,
or perhaps the weary courtyard
of some great road.
 
Exhausted, I watched
those jaundiced letters flare,
speaking now and then
like sudden witnesses.
 
Rain fell upon the tree,
its head bowed.
On Dharmatala pavement,
carrying a weight of pain,
I walked—
and there she was.
 
Dressed, adorned,
alone at the bus stand.
 
Today the ink was deep blue.
I was ready—
though middle-aged,
with wings of pain
outstretched in secret.
 
Only the colors
had vanished from memory.
No wish remained
to write another poem.
 
I slipped past quietly,
without speaking,
and escaped—
 
leaving behind
the torn page
I had suddenly found.