(For Shagufta Parveen)
I shrink into myself when I think
Of the pain she might have felt
While lying there on the railway track
Which took her to nowhere
After being everywhere
In clouds of easy smoke
Produced
By burning cheap tobacco,
In gatherings
Of no brave men,
In the reddening eyes
Of people who had embraced
Death of desire long ago.
I shrink into myself when I think
Of people who held
Her index finger and led her
To the dead track
Where she breathed her last,
Friends. Friends
Who made her dance naked
With flower bands around her wrists
I shrink into myself when I see the blood
Of her metaphors flowing through
The veins of my empty poems
Struggling in darkness
To survive the death on another rail track.