I will sleep tonight, I tell myselfDespite the insomnia that developedAfter you left, like the filth that washed up—Mainly broken bottles of rum and beerOn the shore from the receding waves—On first impressionMy psychiatrist calls it depressionAnd like a village ojhaProduces tablets that keeps me in good faith,Still deeply unconvinced of my wellbeingLater he realizes I am a victimOf faith and a whimAppams taste the best on earth, I tell myselfI have never tasted the dark-eyed beautiful Malayali manBehind the counter in a little restaurant in KochiMaking Appams or IdiyappamsBlack hands on white powderWith Sisyphus’s powerAbundant love too fails to be adequateLike the coarse edges of an iceberg immersedImmense, neither round nor whole,Reassurances follow inadequaciesAs swiftly as regret follows impulsivityDo inadequacies leave you so powerless?Groping for dilapidated coping mechanisms?You will refuse in the end, you willMake it an occasion to invent a truth insteadAching all the while for desires lostAnd expectations disappointedWhen the boat almost capsized todayDid the moments that meant the most to youReturn to you in flashes: Of howYou asked the Kashmiri boyWho made you ecstaticIn his one-room apartmentIf he loved you and he said yes.Or how teary mother would makePaneer paranthas on days of departureFrom home to college in another cityOr how your bones nearly broke inBaba’s embrace at the airportThat struggled to hold togetherOur disintegrating strengthYou forgot about all this,The rejection letterThe note of apologyYour book that won the awardYou drew strength from the helpless boatmanWho has resigned from operating the motorAnd clasped his hands tight in prayerA proud atheist on other days,You turned into a believerYou returned homeLaughed about the unsafety of boats in IndiaResolved not to go boating againYou advised everyone else too to refrainIn your educated circlesYou laughed at the witless boatmanWho had no smart maneuver andGave into rustic liturgical chantsReassurances have followed inadequacies so farIt is not a miracle, simply consequential.