I spend my days in grieving.
It's not the best pastime
But I don't really have a choice.
Your remembrance is paining me,
Krishna.
I can't believe I just said that.
Days and nights don't make a difference to me
When your life is a rainless August night
The world's perception of the sun rising
Makes no sense to me.
I am indifferent to all the other pains
Breaking my back or an insect bite
For the pain of the heart I have decided to prioritise.
It's so possessively mine.
But there is one time of the day
I don't grieve.
But I smile like a sweet child
That is when I open
My poetry book Krishna.
It has always made my heart dance
And my soul flutter
So little words
So many emotions
It gives me unending chills.
Who am I telling,
My poetry book is filled with you Krishna.
Every word of it
Every syllable of it.
Isn't it ironical, how
You make me weep,
Yet it is you alone
Who makes me smile pristinely?