Poetry

Simika, a stranger within the machang eaves,
holds the Panchchuli mountains 
with an innocent, guileless love.

The waves shout,
Crashing tumultuously on the slippery rocks
Standing on the cliff I try to see my reflection
In the space between me and the water below

We met after
Two thousand years or more or an eternity,
You looked the same astonishingly,

It’s been too long since we last met
Absence has a hunger of its own,
Not seeing you feels like starving for days
A slow ache beneath the ribs