Breathing lines
I woke, and listened to her carefully
Breathing in swift shallow doses,
In-out, in-out, half a hiss each way,
Like tiny bellows needing a service.
The airconditioner also, regardless,
Gushed cold air, noisy but different,
Flowing as if breathing's one-way,
Its silent inhaling of stale and used
A private philanthropy, not for us
To know, who lie the night in peace.
Not much else in way of sound, light
In stiletto rays piercing interstices
Between curtains, time illuminated
Thus on the wall clock, stimulating
Supine guilt, quick resolve to rise
And shine in conventional ways, not
Covered by poetic lines. These for
Later recall and reconstruction, as
In way our AC hides its exit for stale,
Like poets, breathing fresh lines alone.
Sanjib Basu 