not a ghazal

a lone gulmohar flower falls, lands next to my feet
we stop, i pick it up; the shiny tar road looks alive, beneath our feet

it's time for me to leave, you hold me close for a moment;
my phone rings, before we know it, the inches between us turn into feet

the rain stops and clouds give way to the sun, nearly burning the hair
on my arms, but they remain wrinkled, icky and wet, my feet

i come home in semi-dry clothes to an empty house, take a warm shower
sit down with my laptop - work beckons; and rest my feet