Ghalib at the door

By Amlanjyoti Goswami

Ghalib stayed outside

Last night.

I had forgotten about him

 

Just as I had forgotten about

Other things

 

In that folded universe:

 

Galli and kucchamohalla and chowk.

Qasida and nazraana and kalam.

 

To explain all that

Would take a dictionary

and many anthologies.

Perhaps, Ghalib in person.

 

Not that Ghalib turned up drunk

After midnight

and I wouldn’t let him in.

 

He cares, I know.

He still hasn’t received his pension. 

© 2019 harana poetry

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