Dear Tridib, you've ruined me for life

The Old City begins to speak every

night, when the whole world sleeps. Restless minds like
mine prowl the streets, insomniac, searching
for the lesser known, the secrets of this
ghost town wrapped between sheets of fresh concrete.

Twenty, Barakhamba Road is a ruin.
It stands stranded between high rise buildings
that can see further, and the underground
trains that hear deeper that the likes of us.

Dear Tridib, You never told me that my
room would smell like fog on a cold morning.
Whatever you did tell me, I find I am
beginning to forget, only to soon.
I found my ruin, Tridib, like you found
yours; but never thought of you till a friend
reminded me of that forgotten tale.

They say I am young, naïve, cannot be
left to roam the streets alone. So I am
forced to look for new ways to get around.
I have have not learned to dream like you, not yet.
I spend my waking hours imagining.
When I sleep, I am already out of
ideas. And then the Old City creeps up
on me, silently whispering secrets.

I shall be driven out of my mind soon,
If I’m not careful. My wakeful nights of
Conversation fill my brain with more than
I can take. When I wake up, then, the world
Is not real anymore – a celluloid
Irony playing out before my eyes.

I am filled with the insecurities
that come from living one too many lives
at a time. The discrete worlds try to come
together; that only makes all blurry.
I cannot reach out, touch your hand with mine,
I love, like you, Tridib, across the seas;
But never without a twinge of regret-
Even a thought’s distance turned out to be
A longer road than I had imagined.