I work at my desk with a lamp.

Lift my eyes and see beyond the window.

The glimmering neon lights will fadeout soon.

I think of you and dream.

A fusion of flame and fog, an ethereal dance, an ecstasy,

a dream that does not last, a rain that does not rain,

a waterfall frozen on a rock and I slide without a fall.

You multiplied into several forms

and we walked on the street of ice.

The time was the only thing that flowed,

and the feet were the only thing that knew the dance.

Sushama Karnik.

14 March 2024,

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