He said he would come by half-past four.
I was there by four: twenty-five,
Watching the street for his car,
Straining my ears to hear the honk.
 
At forty minutes past four o’ clock,
I walked a little farther down
Towards the corner from where he’d come;
To go and have a closer look.
 
A crowd of yellow taxis pass-
Large and ugly, bellowing smoke,
Sleek and shiny cars speed past,
With streetlights glistening on their forms.
 
The winter evening gliding comes,
A lonely gloom descends on earth,
Shops are decked with Christmas lights,
A choir sings somewhere not far away.
 
It’s four: fifty-five, he’s still not come,
I kick a pebble and hurt my toe,
I grab my phone and give him a call,
The murky darkness is forever mute.
 
Red, green and blue cars pass,
Not one of them stops for me,
No one asks why I am alone
In a cheerful festive time like this.
 
I sigh and turn, and slowly trudge
Back to the place where I was meant to wait,
No one sees me sobbing alone,
With my cell-phone clutched hard in my palm.
 
He said he would come by half-past four.
Now it’s twenty minutes past five,
I stand and watch the cars speeding by,
Waiting for the one that will stop.
 
 Originally published in The Sunday Literary Supplement of The Statesman, an Indian newspaper, in December/Janaury 2007-08