Rilke writes to me...
In the cow-dust hour...
After I come back from paddy field, and
When Ma cooks atap rice
I read his letters with
Divine food...

Every morning, He comes to me
We sit, and talk... ,
Sip tea together...and
Remember our old village in Pakistan...
'We had fourtneen jackfruit trees...
Two ponds...one for fishing, and the other for stories...and
Harishchandra Raja's Puri..,' He says,
We meet everyday
I remember...
In my childhood He used to come through
Our window pane...
I remember the fragrance of 'gurguri hookah'
Red 'tiki' in it
I have a part of Him with me...

My city is too temperate,
Does not allow me dream
...
Long lost friend He is...

Two rains I have...
Two dark ladies...
They live in sea...
Long time no sea...

Writing after a long time. Two months.
Experiencing life in a new way. Success, failure or the mix of both keep hanging on shoulder always...