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I found an error with Google recently,
It had defined conversation as
‘A talk, especially an informal one, between two or more people,
In which news and ideas are exchanged,’
Last time I had a conversation with someone
To exchange ideas,
I was snubbed, ignored, neglected, wasn’t listened to,
But that’s an everyday struggle,
For who doesn’t face,
Misogyny,
Hierarchy,
People thinking they’re better than you,
Because they were born earlier than you,
Because they were born to elites,
Because their names have a legacy,
Which makes them ingenious and worthy of everything,
Because their skin tone is lighter than yours,
Because you’re someone with ***** and ******
And so, you should send pictures of it only, not words & ideas,
But that’s an everyday story with more than half of the population,
The part where I found the error with Google
Was the part where it had listed synonyms of conversation,
There was, ‘heart to heart’,
Last time I had a conversation that was ‘heart to heart’
Was in my mother’s womb,
After that it’s been a finger-phone to your finger-phone,
Or my tongue saying what my heart would’ve never said,
There was also, ‘head to head’,
The only ‘head to head’ that I had last time,
Was when someone’s head suddenly had banged on mine,
And I had to bang it again because otherwise a black dog would’ve chased me,
Or maybe horns would’ve grown out of my head,
I don’t remember if horns was for head banging or for cursing,
But anyway, that’s the only ‘head to head’ that I’ve ever had,
Otherwise, it’s always someone’s South Head nodding at me,
Or just words to words,
Harmless words,
And there was, ‘talk’ typed there too,
But the only ‘talk’ that I have these days is,
‘Hey, how are you?’
‘I’m fine. You?’
‘I’m fine. What’s up these days with you?’
‘Nothing much. You?’
‘Same here too.’
And then the awkward pause resides,
Followed by hesitation to text that person again,
I spotted, ‘exchange’ there too,
The only exchange that I have these days is
Of favours & help,
‘Can you please do…?’
‘Will you help me with…?’
Either me with those questions and fearing a no,
Or someone else asking it & confident that’s there will no ‘No’,
I find myself refusing to tell what I want to,
Refusing to refuse to tasks I know will disturb me
But to stay in the circle I agree to whatever comes my way,
I stand with whatever others say,
Because I’m aware of what happens when you stand for your own voice,
It gets contained, shot, hanged, accused, persecuted, isolated, banished & exiled,
I don’t know now if the error was with Google
Or with me,
Or with all of us.
How are conversations have changed in the need to keep a pretense that everything is fine & great.
I feel hollow,
I feel shallow,
I feel *****,
I feel empty,
I feel sticky,
I feel itchy,
I feel messy,
I feel heavy                        
I feel new,
I feel old,
I want to let go,
I want to hold,
I feel used,
I feel bruised, and maybe at times abused,
I loathe myself, and sometimes about myself I boast,
I feel hungry,
I feel full,
I feel thirsty,
I feel quenched,
I feel alone,
I feel lonely,
I feel clothed,
I feel naked,
I feel whole,
I feel broken into pieces,
I feel blossomed,
I feel withered,              
I feel responsible for my anomaly,                      
I feel like talking,
I feel like silencing myself,
I feel like running,
I feel like walking by myself,
I feel like climbing,
I feel like rolling,
I feel like shouting when I climb,
I feel like screaming when I crawl,
I feel like crying when I run,
I feel like collapsing when I walk,
I feel like a tool,
I feel like a fool.                        
I feel like a child ordered to act like an adult,                        
I feel like tearing,                        
I feel like shredding                        
I feel all these feelings,
Because that's what I am allowed to,
I never feel love,
Because that's something that I'm not allowed to,  
Because they feel it’s unnatural to fill Missus and Missus on their forms and lines, that's what I feel.
The various feels we are allowed & what we are not.
Freedom
It feels like the shrill scream of relief,
The fingers slowly moving with the wind
The wind feeling like the clear water stream,
You standing on your toes
And twirling around
Then feeling dizzy
It feels like that throaty laugh of no care
Whether you giggle, chuckle, or snort during that laughter,
That’s what freedom is supposed to be,
Not a written document,
Not a proclamation,
Not a declaration,
Not words,
Freedom is a feeling,
And that can’t be drilled in,
Or taken away,
Or restricted,
Freedom is like the eagle in the sky,
It’s like closing your eyes
And feeling like floating on the water,
Making angels with a backstroke or snowflakes,
It’s erratic,
It’s exhilarating,
It’s not discipline & decorum,
It’s finding your own tune, your own hum,
Your own branch of tree to live upon,
If even the noses breathing are not the same,
Then how can the feeling be generalized with it?
But no more,
What you gave this girl, this parakeet of yours was a cage,
But, now, this parakeet has found the key.
-S.N.N.
I tried to describe the feeling of freedom.
Today, I came back home,
And you weren’t there,
I hope for you to reach sooner here,
Because if you were here then the books would be in a neat pile,
You always arrange everything neatly,
If you were here, I would’ve told you about auto driver’s story,
You always listen to those stories intently,
If you were here the towel wouldn’t be on the bed,
It would be hung out to dry,
If you were the sheets would be tucked under the mattress,
And on the hook, behind the door, there would be my nightdress,
If you were here, there would be a filled water-bottle in the fridge,
There would be groceries too, bought and kept in the fridge,
You would know the routes to every shop and which one to go if that was closed,
While I struggle to remember the various ways that you uncovered to get back home,
Lunch prepared and set on the table with Netflix on,
You asking me where did I reach on the phone,
You opening the gate,
Ordering me to change before we ate,
Everything set up like a date, every day.
Today I came back to a structure of brick and cement,
Loaded with facilities but still not better than that trek tent,
And as I open the fridge and find no water there,
No Netflix on, or updating location status on the phone,
It’s only then you realize that home is not a product of civil engineering or architecture,
It’s us, being together, cuddling and whispering like we did in that valley when you took that picture.
How you miss someone when they leave.
My Honey,
This one is for you, from me,
I still vividly remember your first touch,
I still remember how the first time when you poured yourself out to me,
It’s like you had resided in each & every pore of mine,
You had coloured me with your pale colour,
What a whirlwind romance of ours was!
I can’t even think about the times when I was without you,
I was being contained,
My whole existence being reduced to a mere cube,
Then you come around,
Filling me with your sweetness,
Holding me, twirling along with me,
You don’t know how overwhelmingly nice it was,
If only I could put it into words
How you have completed me,
If only I could tell you how you have made me spin for you,
Before you, I was still
& now I rush for you,
My honey, now, I rush to you,
If only you had an idea how you have changed me,
I accept not all the times are perfect for us,
We might not mix that well together,
But I want to know you as well as the blood knows its way in the veins,
Not have you stuck on the roof of the mouth like peanut butter,
Because I know how white I was with fear when I was surviving all lonely in this world,
Let’s just say I have grown used to your embrace to go back to that old tasteless life of mine,
Here’s to me saying what I might’ve said to you over & over again,
I love you, honey.

Yours Forever,
Milk.
For me, the world is small,
Yet I don't get it at all,
I know that it thrives on money,
But then I don't get why people care for principles & morality,
I don't get what people are trying to say in reality,
This small world speaks between the lines,
Full of mirth less laughter and emotionless whines,
This small world of mine which I look at, through the screen,
Now that world of mine appears less mean,
I think it's all about the quest of finding your world within the world,
Somewhere where the faces are not blurred,
A place where I light a candle and that's it,
The electricity can make someone else's bulbs lit,
But sometimes I fear if I do light that candle by finding a matchstick in this technology,
Will that be enough for people around me?
But you know what, the thing is, even if that candle melts to its death,
I'll take the wax, heat it on a forest fire and give it birth again.
Maybe I'll do it,
Even if I do, then again, what for?
I wish I knew how to deal with this, this isn't me, this never happened before,
****** world makes you grow up and then leave you like a wild boar
To see if you roar or become a bore,
Is that the point of it all?
What a sad drowsy ball.
-S.N.N.
From the eye of a nihilistic photographer being made to go through rites of  electrical engineering.
Dear sweety,
Here are some things I wanted to say to you,
Just in case there's any doubt, all of these are true,
You always said you cared for me,
You cared for me as much as a lumberjack cares for trees,
You kept saying everything was okay,
It was as okay & fine as global warming today,
You said you were there for me,
You were there, undoubtedly, just like stars are there in the sky during day,
But the funniest part was that I had affection for you,
But now it's as much as affection as Jews have for Nazis,
Because the attraction is same as the attraction between same poles of a magnet,
And now, I would rather quench my thirst with buckets of sea water than your pure Himalayan elixir of life,
For you no longer melt me like that sun melts snow.
-S.N.N.
The things unsaid and feelings put in Chandler Bing way.
Why does this love not work?
I’ve banged it against the wall,
Gave it enough kind & aggressive pats,
Checked the procedure & rules from the novels, movies, even DIY on Google,
But still it won’t work,
It stays shut with the memories of our times,
And I just can’t seem to find the key,
Or break the ice around it,
I’ve tried to hug it, warm it,
Heat it up a little bit,
But it just doesn’t open up,
Why does it not open up?
Why does it not open when it has made me hollow
For it has swallowed everything that I was, am, will be, feel or know,
I cry looking how cold it has become,
Kiss the ice in hope it melts,
But it freezes my tears,
I’m afraid it’ll freeze my fears too,
It’ll freeze my feelings for it too,
I’m scared it’ll freeze me too,
And then I’ll stop taking it to bed,
I’ll stop waking up & looking to my left, to be kissed,
I’ll stop asking what to cook for breakfast,
Or where to have dinner,
Or asking you to buy groceries,
Or sending you updates on Snapchat, WhatsApp,
Or stop tagging you in memes on Facebook,
Or plan trips to places,
Plan surprises,
I’ll stop saying, ‘I love you,’
& I’ll start saying, ‘It’s not meant to be,’
Not any of that will matter to you,
Because your heart has already turned into icy sheet,
You’re waiting for the time to strike the avalanche in me,
Is that the reason why that box is still with me?
Because you just haven’t found the time to break it?
You’ll just hit restart,
Have a snowfall somewhere else,
And I’ll be stuck with the pieces,
Gathering each & every one of them,
Telling myself & repeating lies of throwing it away soon,
Hitting restart on me over & over again,
Hoping for the ‘New Me Version 2.0’ download to soon end & initialize the process again.

— The End —