Handprints on the Unpartitioned Map of India

Your eyes are black,
Deep like the caves of Lascaux.
I put my palm against yours.
Fingers too, soon intertwined.

Trace the shapes in my mind, outlines
Drawing chickens, or a duck
Like children on paper.
Glue on googly eyes for added effect.
Crayons melting onto it, unto us.
Our handprints on cave walls,
16,000 years ago.

Your face is a mirror, I stare into it.
My hand against yours is
The intrinsic act of self discovery.
But do you believe me?
Of course you do, why wouldn't you?

When I ask you to close your eyes,
Do you see the face of god within me?
In the drawn out lines of your hand,
The creases accommodate a thousand years of history.

Do you see it like I do?
The hazy tendrils of an afternoon in Bengal,
The calmness of a moment within leaves
Swayeth gracefully; an éléphantesque grandeur.

Your skin feels familiar,
Your mind a testament, to
The unpartitioned map of India.

Do you feel the winter creep in?
When mornings smell like cha,
And the evenings are wrapped in shawls,
When the dust hits sharp?

One of these mornings,
When everyone else is gone, and you are too,
I will miss this.
When the silence of death is the only ringing in my ears,
I cannot fathom,
I hope the noise starts to make sense.

Uzayer Masud likes beans, capybaras but definitely not pelicans. Send them raita recipes at instagram.com/uzayermasud