Sadness is both of you sitting at the farthest corners, engrossed watching a love story
Sadness is closing your eyes, counting till 10, hoping for the phone call at the end of the count
Sadness is the stubborn square mark on the wall even after the photo frame is removed
Sadness is you build a night, warm ember flecks seething, but instead end up piling words flung carelessly at each other
Sadness is when a poem is entangled in the chest like a butterfly yet when you pen it down there's this same dampness between its alleys
No not sadness, a quietness has taken over
A quietness waiting for another beginning
Let it be!
Between my shadow and the soul
I had thrown a few seeds
and now it has grown into a tree!
Its roots crawling into me
like a stubborn childhood
branches taking shapes
wrapping around gingerly like a lover's arm,
and a nagging cricket hum,
as real as the darkness of a rice-pot in a poor man's hut!
And I continue to pretend to be free.
With age, it's getting easier to delete.
I have deleted nostalgia, the embarrassment of memory.
I've deleted those lakes, trees, and the aroma of tea.
Receipt of the funeral ticket, condolence messages are deleted too.
Also, to delete the warmth, those breakfasts and the rides together, with age it's getting easier!
Only thing is, it would have been easier still, if the Sun isn't deleted too!