Two aliens meet in New York Over two glasses of beer. One recites a ghazal in Hindustani, The other maps the geographies

He had forgotten and lost In the pauses between One sher and the next, Each of which he finds his breath

Inaudibly repeating in his drunk throat. Heartsick, his tongue grows heavy And slurs even his adopted language, Only in which he can now say:

“This is wonderful” or this (Which was left unsaid): “I wish I could enter that country In which you can still stand in,

Here in New York, if only To say I am sorry, I have lost All languages in which saying “I Love you” wouldn’t sound so false”.

Note: Written after finally meeting Anand, the poet of many cities, on a rainy New York night.