By Laila Brahmbhatt
WATCH YOU WALK
I watch you walk
the street we once shared.
You toss away a paper
the one I gave you,
scribbled with your silly jokes.
It’s been a long day
with thoughts about you.
I must sleep
so I can think some more.
When I think of you,
I don’t miss you.
I miss our laughter.
I’m still laughing
at those jokes.
But you can’t hear me.
To hear,
one must be awake
Laila Brahmbhatt, a Kashmiri/Jharkhand-rooted writer and Senior Immigration Consultant in New York, has published haiku and haibun in several international journals, including Cold Moon Journal and Failed Haiku.
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