A heart that has not known sorrow
Is like a well-manicured courtyard,
Paved with beautiful tiles,
And never littered with falling leaves
After a stormy summer day;
But a heart familiar to loss
Will let grief seep into the wounds
Like a peepal seed finds its way
Through the cracks and crevices
Of a house that has known better days;
With time, when the roots gather strength,
When April comes with her babbling ways,
The peepal shall resound
With the cackle of singing birds;
Pain is quite a small price to pay
To have a song play in your heart
In a green bower meant only for you.
Your letter beats in my pocket, rich with your scent.
It came in wrinkled, with dog-eared corners, crumpled.
I like to believe it came thus
Because you read and then re-read what you first wrote,
Because you clasped it tight, still not sure what was right,
Because neatness was the last thing that you had sought,
Because it really mattered, this letter:
Because love is expressed with unsteady fingers;
I like to think so.
You may have noticed that all my small notes to you
Seem to have been written as if I had
The clumsiest, most nervous fingers that ever
Put words to paper in this whole wide world.