By Sunil Gangopadhyay

There you stand in the balcony
Vanity doesn’t become you
Are you just another woman who
From just another balcony
Has lain her brow
Near evening’s head?

For you’re mine alone, seen from afar
Dried hair, moist face, your palm cupping your silken chin
You’re Nira
Vanity simply doesn’t become you
To see you is to make you lovely, to become
Viewer and god in one
Your solitary beauty merges with the mourning wind