In my student days
a girl came laughing.
Our hands met kneading
her rice and fish curry.
On a bench we became
a Hindu-Christian family.
I whiled away my time
reading Neruda’s poetry;
and meanwhile I misplaced
my identity card.
I noticed, she said
returning my card:
the account of your stipend
is entered there in red.
These days I never look at
a boy and a girl lost in themselves.
They will depart after a while.
I won’t be surprised even if they unite.
Their identity cards
won’t have scribblings in red.