Of Three Bridges
Fateh
Kadal, the third bridge and my birthplace,
Is
now plied more by wheels than feet,
Having
turned from wood-bridge to footbridge to
tracks set in stone.
But when I stand near the guard rail, I go into raptures
Seeing
how the balmy sun still brightens the heights.
A
few oars away spans Zaina Kadal,
The
fourth bridge and Yamin’s birthplace;
His
angling memories still float around,
Cherishing
his life’s first love caught
Long
ago perhaps in the waters between.
Amira
Kadal, the first bridge and Tanzeel’s birthplace,
Arches
over some strokes away from the two.
When
asked about his first love found
Between
the third and the fourth, he says,
It’s
all water under the bridges.
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