I Remember Siachen

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I remember Siachen.
Mostly because you came back from it
but not to me.
You wanted freedom, you said,
from both war and love.
And I, who had breathed less each night
thinking of you in ever-thinning air, thinking
of your face shrinking, of its broad planes
becoming sharper in the cold,
in your wait for something to happen,
for heroism to swoop like a bird,
thinking of the way you danced,
and waited by the phone,
licked envelopes with a dry tongue,
watched mosquitoes settle on my foot like beauty spots
and all that time, wanted to lick the snow off your lips,
I put the receiver back in its cradle.

I took a flight to Pune to make love to you
to show you how perfect it could be.
I cried on the way back
and vowed that I’d never love an army man again,
a man for whom death was the only tragedy
worth remembering.

*First published in Mosaic, a Unisun anthology

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Tags: Poetry, siachen, war, war poetry