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  • Writer's pictureAbhishek Anicca

Four Sunday Poems

Cheat Days / Abhishek Anicca


On Sundays,

I eat everything from Monday to Friday, even Thursday which makes me bloated.

On Sundays,

There is so much on my plate, and it hardly matters that I am already full.

On Sundays,

A few pounds make no difference, I do not measure the load I carry.

On Sundays,

I am so full, I am so empty, I almost die searching for a prayer.


Never a day off / Abhishek Anicca

On Sunday

we read horoscopes

of people we weren't taking to


Was there any chance of them finding love?


Parting notes / Abhishek Anicca

After all this is over, we will return to our ordinary, daily lives, you and me

You, to your loving partner, important work, routine

Me, to my one room loneliness, projecting life on a screen

You, with your waiting for a Sunday to be at home

Me, agitated, always finding an excuse to not be alone

You, setting boundaries in your relationships, searching for sanctity

Me, melting away into the next person who offers hope, always guilty

Still, we will find something that ties us

together every day, in ways unsaid, unseen


Spotless / Abhishek Anicca

Sundays without the sun are

a half written Urdu couplet

on a napkin at a wedding

you wore a sherwani to

What were those words?

Only the dry cleaner knows




Image Description: Sunday in the Park by George Seurat


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