Prabhakar Subramaniam


A new house


We're strangers still

The feet remember

Only the old place

Out of habit

They go and stand

Before a blank wall

Where a mirror used to be

In the other house

The hands reach out for things

That are not there

Search for switches

At old corners

The eyes keep looking

For the abandoned plants

Wonder who's watering them now

Miss the coconut palm

Outside the balcony

Where the night always

Came to sit with you

Like a confidant

The smell of paint

Hangs in the air

Like a dead man's scent

Submitted: Monday, July 02, 2012

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