THERE HE SAT
MOSARRAP H KHAN
He sits there hunched,
pretending to read a book written
in a language he learned late in life.
This is his way of reminding me
what keeps us apart – his now-found
faith and my indifference to it.
He smells of decay and old age,
like the house, keeping our secrets,
the white paint peeling off the ceiling.
The walls crumble here, the moisture
corrodes the bones, adding to
ruins of memories.
He will sit there hunched tomorrow
and the day after and read his book.
The wall will keep growing between us.