New Home

Did I ever tell you

that I am a house to a lot of stories

and home to many characters probably you will never see

My mind is a very messed up place to be in

it is fighting and fighting over petty issues

or thinking about work, work, and work

I direct the conversation to the weather report or the current affairs

whenever someone asks me "How are you?" or "What are you thinking?"

I tell stories where it should not have been told

or on the stage that was built in my head

I think about the words every time even with bruises and blood on my hand

Just for the sake of that line to get fine

There are places stacked with sad people

and in those placed I am working 10 hours a day

with characters of EMIs, loans, and rent on my head

screaming harder than my dreams

But god damn it, I am earning revenues that a grown-up person should do

Damn my parents must be so proud

There are words, metaphors, similes, characters all taking me to a trip

Wait, did I tell you that I write poems

sore face, numb eyes

shivering hands, dark sky

~

Next station is Rajiv Chowk

Doors will open on the left

Please mind the gap

~

Suddenly I wake up, shivered

rushing towards that door

but I was writing a poem

haah never mind

there goes my another incomplete "viral" poem

now as I woke up from the dead, I should work for another 10 hours

10 hours on a place which now I call home