KATYAL, Akhil

Types of Falling

A coin drops into the pocket.

A leaf slows to the ground.

An eagle nosedives to its prey.

The passer-by trips on the curb.

An egg is dislodged from the nest.

The graph dips for a day.

The night sinks behind the window.

Silence descends like a Mary Oliver poem.

Your hand slips down the waist.

I move towards you and call it falling.


I Come Back to My Flat

you’re sitting on the landlord’s sofa

tying your shoelaces.

In the study, I am

pulling you behind the shelves

for one more kiss.

In the kitchen, you’re putting

the three extra spoons of sugar

in your morning tea.

At the washbasin,

naked, you’re cleaning up

the mess we’ve made.

In the bedroom, you’re

sitting up on my side of the bed,

your back reticent.

In each place

you’re always there.

In each place,

you’re readying

to leave.

When

Begum Akhtar sang her last song

Lata hummed her last tune

Shahid wrote his last line

Shakir inked her last noon

What signs had fallen on those

days, what omens lay unseen,

the world was ending in a million

ways from all that could have been