It was there a moment before.
Now, it's gone.
The black leather one,
bought after an exhaustive bargain,
near a railway station.
It was two years ago, I guess.
You can't trust them,
the folks in the bus
not for a brief second
to wipe your sweaty face.
They are out there;
vultures in waiting
picking moment of weaknesses.
What saddened me most
was not her photo,
or the credit cards
or the paper-soap I carry everywhere
or those few hundred bucks.
I am worried about the bus-ticket
I bought in exchange of a ten-rupee note.
What shall I tell the ticket collector ?
How do I get down on the road ?
I am worried about the nearest future
in a place where nobody believes
in it anymore.
_________________________________________
(2012)
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