I wait with them

Drawing pictures with mind-brush

On the blank walls of this empty house,

I wait for the noise of your laugh.

Face buried on the neat sheet on the bed,

Breath heavy and uneasy I

Wait for the scent of your disheveled hair.

Part the curtains of my imagination,

Take form; take shape.

Run through me like the summer night breeze.

Touch my face with your icy hands

Wet my dry, parched lips

With the rain-drops of your moist love.

Not alone though I am

In this not so vain wait of yours,

There are few who could not say you so.

The floors swept clean by tears of repentance,

Wait for the gentle tapping of your feet

To the rhythm of the new tune we rehearsed.

The tulsi-plant at the veranda too

Like a neglected child, sulks and waits

Who will water me during the morning and dusks?

Upon which we used to sit under the stars

Witness to our giggles and sighs

The mattress still spread open waits .

That old table lamp too: you remember?

Read books aloud, acted, cried, laughed

And slept under, just tired on many other occasions.

What are you waiting for dear,

For Me to say how much you mean

Or You to be bold enough to break the hedgings of ego

Can you not see the need of yours

Must you continue your hide-and-seek?

Must you make me wait longer?