The Whore and I

I lay awake
on the roof
as Kathmandu slept in thirst.
My alert twisting and turning on the cold cement
disturbing
the street whores
privacy.

She was up, like me, to find some peace
in the soothing night;
away from the relentless
bickering of
idle know its alls
in the nooky tea stalls
and unemployed dream makers.

I, having apologized for my manners,
seduced her to accompany me that night
to spectator the glory of the lifeless city
Hiding its ugliness under the burkka
of corrupt street lights.

We exchanged glances over
the snores of the crowded city.
And like the much laughed ancients we fell in love,
Only through the shy glances in the beautifying dark.

My sweetheart and I romanced.
The blank paint overwhelmed
the still surprised roads,
the stone eyed children,
the moody garbage- that decides to stay
a few days longer,
the random reflection of the rooted stars,
and the chaos that we had come to accept
as a part of our charm.

In the cool night
we cozzied in the theater
of my roof
and her street.
Naively basking in the moonless sky,
ogling at our perfect city
Until unkindly awakened by the
the bloody heat
that washed the makeup off my city’s face
to expose ,to that bitch and me,
the flaws in our world.