The pain on my spine has increased
towards the surface of my tanned back.

Along with the inflation.

Coming home to saag & paratha,
made by my 12 year old gurriya.

I wish there was a cure for my wifes breathing.

I lay onto the family charpoy,
staring onto the tin ceiling foundationed by mud
with my widow eyes.

Azaan cries,
I rise.

A mi casito

Rise and struggle my eyelids to open to the distant of the trolleys.

A slight, below average breezes through against the satin curtains.

I'm thirty-one stories high.

Five suitcases flung open lying on the Marriot scented carpet.

No worries.

The breeze threw against my face.

I breathe in the piers & bayous air.

No worries.

This time , I'm not afraid of being so high.

All I care for is that I might as well land into the homeless cup.

I don't mind falling into the street performance of this busy streetlife.

...Pssst..

Having to know that you're not alone expresses sympathy, to me.



They say they're there for you but it seems that they're always first when
no one is on their side.


No one else is your best friend except yourself, right?


I don't know if it's okay about your secrets,
memories, and others relating to some things private.


Worried more about
letting go in some way with them running off
with the things you have shared.

scribble scribble dot

I always worry and put myself in their shoes.

always having to see if i'm normal them.

I hope i am.

People pleasing is what i do.

i feel as if i am weak, but undoubtingly , am not the only one.

I am young and needy, but age is always the last worry,

atleast for me.

Why do each individual has to hav or need another?

to answer their questions.

But don't we have religion for that.

To comfort one another?

don't we have our family for that?