The trees and birds
in Lahore’s gardens
lose some leaves
some voices
stamped with dust
autumn-nudged silence
seeks space
on the stubbled faces
of old men
whimpering on sticks
their fungal fingers
with children running
for their mothers
what was dear last year
is now unbelievably absent
cheeks
accumulate
eyes
extinguished craters
the evenings
as if on anodyne
bats cluster
in a web
of the dog-barked darkness
the city folds
like a bride
in its virgin embrace
I sleep in its warm lap.