Fate

By Paramjit Singh Bakhshi

We go from thought to thought

Place to place, lip to lip

Missing connections

Yet connecting

Through accidents called fate.

Round and round

Around love

On tip toes

Silently

Like a thief

In an alien house.

Opening doors

That lead

Not to the treasury

But to the cockroach

Infested kitchen

We quench our thirst

On the tap

And walk away

At the most

With the half-eaten sandwich

From the icy fridge.

By Paramjit Singh Bakhshi