The Parcels

Disheveled, my hair uncombed,

I wait for you in corners of the streets.

Tourists walk by. They pay no attention.

When they smile, I smile back.

But it ends here. Not a single word

Leaves my mouth.

I walk past your favourite volumes

In glittering Kinokuniya stores,

Waiting for a sign of life.

The corners of my eyes feel strange –

Are these tears? Oh yes, they are.

Why don't they stream down my face?

Here the smiles are false and empty –

The promises made are hollow and fake

This is the busiest city on earth,

People barely get the time to breathe,

And love? Is that a word you made up?

They have no time for it here.

I get your love in parcels every week.

The postman sometimes peeks into them

And shakes his head in disbelief.

The parcels are empty, he says.

I tell him I never buried you.

The parcels are precious.

They carry your words.

When he is not dealing with mood swings, Shounak Reza devours books and tea and longs for eras he has never lived in. You can contact him at www.fb.com/shounakreza