Till the time I was reading it…Till the time my eyes were stuck on the muse called you
I was still thinking…still wondering…still pondering
On the questions you never asked
On the answers I kept on repeating
As I look from my terrace suddenly towards the hue of crimson sky
Cargo planes passing from my small abode in the busy lanes of Bangalore
I tinkle what all you gave…Do I miss what all you took away?
My inventory of emotions my cottage of affection
My doors of attraction and my esteem of perception
All burning in the haze of madness in the chaos of destruction
What I was…What I’am…What I have buried and…What I have thrown
All confined in a voyage in a journey of What to who to why to where
Cargo planes passing over my small abode in the busy lanes of Bangalore
You made me a patient…You made me a patient
Patient of words, patient of ailments
Patient of airports, mountains and beaches
Patient of both found and lost
Patient of dreams both fulfilled and missed
Patient of long walks…gasping for a hand to behold
Cargo planes passing over my small abode in the busy lanes of Bangalore
Now…A question
What if one day we wake up and you realise we aren’t the people we were yesterday
What if we wake up and you realise that our conversations don’t excite you anymore
What if it’s just a part of routine you’re planning to cut down
What if one one day we wake up and you realise that we were never more than a stranger
What if one day…It’ll be just me looking up both alone and sober
Cargo planes passing over my small abode in the busy lanes of Bangalore
By: Kshitij Sinha
22/1/2023