My Love

By night and day, the lady would sit and weave, my love
till Lancelot sang his ‘tirra lirra’ and she would leave, my love.

Now you say it was so easy for me to reach and wreck
your heart. Who told you to wear it on your sleeve, my love?

The beloved always leaves, James had told you. So when
you learnt to love, you should have learnt to grieve, my love.

I tell you that you will find some one better. ‘The world lies
disenchanted,’
you say, ‘now don’t ask me to believe, my love.’

I see them playing with their pets in Hyde Park. I remember
our conversations. Even dogs have learnt to retrieve, my love.

And will you, fortune’s favourite son, look around
one day and find there is no one to bereave, my love.

Vikram said ‘A friend, unlike a lover, does not need to be wooed
by exaggerations’
,it is good you never meant to deceive, my love.

They ask me what Akhil means, I tell them ‘the whole universe,’
it bides time in the name you will not receive, my love.

About the author

Akhil Katyal

Born in Bareilly, U.P. in 1985, Akhil Katyal is a writer and translator based in Delhi where he also teaches literature. His writings have appeared in The UCity Review, North East Review, The Four Quarters Magazine, The Bangalore Review, Ezra - Journal of Translation, Earthen Lamp Journal, Ivory-Tower among several others. He has translated the works of Mangalesh Dabral, Wislawa Szymborska, Agha Shahid Ali, Om Prakash Valmiki, Dorothy Parker, Langston Hughes among others. He finished his PhD from SOAS, University of London in 2011. Write to him at akhilkatyal@gmail.com.