I think about you

when I am someone else’s;
perhaps then, I’ve loved you the most.

The bougainvillaeas have started speaking
all over Delhi again,
from the corners of the eye,
breathe the tombs; bright purple –
You have taught me to hold this colour.

Last Sunday, I brought you a flower you did not know the name of.
A small victory, I had laughed to myself.
After that, we clawed each other till we came.

Slowly, softly we are marking our bodies,
unlearning the maps of our colonisers.