By Irfanullah Farooqi,
Like a laborer’s hungry child
waiting for her parent at the doorstep
when the day steps out with reluctance
and night enters with a sense of shame
with tears, I waited for tears in your eyes
for I knew no being is barren in the eyes of love
So, with moist eyes, I waited for those moist eyes
I had heard crime itself punished the doer
I was told guilt was inescapably human
So, with few drops, I waited for those few drops
Every time you spoke, I was glued to your eyes
those dry, white eyes
those slates, disturbingly clean
veins that carried no blood of past
Those barren grounds, no trace of water
yet I looked for those few drops
that could rewrite what was removed with so much effort
Drops that could make those grounds fertile
While you spoke, I waited
while others heard, I yearned
People cry while listening
People cry while reading
People cry while watching
People cry while remembering
And I was told memory spares none
So I waited
And then one day those drops came
your eyes did experience the mist
But by then my eyes had turned empty
of that longing
had forgotten what tears looked like
the last dew faded
as the pastless sun rose
Now I stand alone, no shadow, no yearning,
no hope, no love, and no past
and you stand alone with your drops
I waited for you to see my tears
Now I can’t see yours.
—-
Irfanullah Farooqi received PhD in Sociology from Jawaharlal Nehru University