Vikram Seth


Round and Round

After a long and wretched flight

That stretched from daylight into night,

Where babies wept and tempers shattered

And the plane lurched and whiskey splattered

Over my plastic food, I came

To claim my bags from Baggage Claim

Around, the carousel went around

The anxious travelers sought and found

Their bags, intact or gently battered,

But to my foolish eyes what mattered

Was a brave suitcase, red and small,

That circled round, not mine at all.

I knew that bag. It must be hers.

We hadn’t met in seven years!

And as the metal plates squealed and clattered

My happy memories chimed and chattered.

An old man pulled it of the Claim.

My bags appeared: I did the same.

Vikram Seth

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