The story.

In a jutted drunken milieu

I had told you a story.

I had seated myself In the corner

on the parapet

between the TV and the bar

where everyone else were spilling their drinks.

I,

sober as a rock,

was looking at the women

smiling their smiles

with horrendous coyness

and their kurta clad men

all drunk and merry

and I had marveled at their profanities

I remember thinking,

This, must be it.

calling it: Life

and the sheer wisdom that I was not it.

And there you were

seated next to me

with your drink undrunk

and a smile for the world

And I told you my story

knowing I would not remember.

You kept your drink on the table

smiled a pitying smile on me

and walked away.