They were betrayed by geometry – the
of a circular world that suggested they
to run into each other some day.
Through the motion
of days, and dreams, longitudes
time zones across airport coffee shops,
imagining… like the misplaced, they
would find each other
in lost and found bins, in warm window
They figured geography maps would
drop a clue, a city
name, a lake or even the kind of
vegetation that would
somehow lead to a street, and a house
And what is a good time to call?
No time good enough to call people
the circle of time, dizzy with the round-
motion of an orange earth.
And now look… the sun sets in a vague
direction of the west,
and perhaps that’s geometry
to reconcile the lines and circles of their
world. Later, it
will try with moonlit chimes and
and through the debris of feelings
over the years that refused to pause or
as they still seek a straight line that will
lead to a
single latitude circling earth’s skin.
Rather than comment on how beautiful and transformative Meenakshi Chawla’s poem is, and it is, I’ve written a response below it, a prayer for lost lovers to reunite:
Where will I rediscover you and will I?
The question sits on all the lips of those
who lie in bed alone.
You is/are the name each of us give
to what we love the most
or what we have not, will not know.
And it is almost always that One, absent,
Gone, through circumstance or happenstance.
Where did I lose you and when? Did it
Happen even as we knew we were
discovering each other that first time.
Was loss a piece of swelling
big as the enlarging heart?
Where will I come upon you, if I do?
Perhaps in death or life again. When?
Perhaps not ever, what then? I’ll give
It another day, a week. Another month.
A lifetime more or more,
Then I’ll know I never gave up.