ढलती उमर भी ढलती शामों से पाकीज़ा होगी,

कांपते होठ, धीमी धड़कनों का डर भी गुमशुदा होगी,

जिस तरह आज सुबह तुमने सूरज से पहले मुझे चूमा,

क्या उसी तरह , मेरी आखरी नींद में साथ दोगी ?

“Młodość to kapryśny przyjaciel. Możesz mu poświęcić wszystko, a i tak Cię porzuci. Prawdziwy przyjaciel to starość. Nie opuści Cię, dając z siebie coraz więcej i więcej, aż do dnia twej śmierci.”

    Seated in the doctor’s office I peeked over my magazine, causing the collage of perfume bottles to distort until they resembled vague, pastel coloured light-bulbs clustered at the brim of my vision. Across me slouched a woman with a house shaped cage on her lap, a string of drool snailing down her chin as she snored. I made a face at her green-cheeked conure as it inched down its tightrope towards me, bobbing its head. The middle-aged man a few seats down, his cowboy hat flipped over his eyes, fanned himself with a lung disease brochure even though the air conditioning had been set to blast. My eyes followed their thought bubbles as they bounced off the oily walls and popped. The severed letters puffed up to the ceiling in a cloud of confetti, mundane details they’d already forgotten. The parakeet’s thoughts were less entertaining, a string of staccatos that fizzled out before they could even form.