He knows someone is watching, When he goes past that house. From the backyard of the house And the darkness of the kitchen. Threads of her gaze seem to Hail upon him to heave his heart. The tonal sounds of her breath, The rhythmic touch of her foot. Her unseen face and imagined Persona stomps on his chest. So his bicycle breaks sometimes, His chappals wear. Sometimes The stone in front of her house Bleeds his toe and he has to Take there a moment in pretense For his sweet pain. She too wants to rush out to Directly catch his gaze. But the neighbouring aunt doesn't Call out for her in time, Neither the wanderers come In time seeking alms. And the days pass, years roll. The longing in the eyes never Transcend down to the hesitant feet. Never tending to meet- These stray stories linger Restlessly in the same street.