There'a manicure kit
on the table,
And I'm filing my nails
As we speak now,
Getting ready my weapon,
Of gentle destruction.
I want to pinch you
Causing no blood,
But only loud shrieks,
For being so ignorant
Of all the telltale signs,
Pointing in the general direction,
Of where we stand today.

I had dropped hints,
And so did you,
And so did the universe,
And so did Ludovico,
playing his piano so quietly,
without uttering a word,
About our cosmic connection.
We seem to have
So carelessly missed,
ALL of it.
Great.

Now we both trace backwards
our journey together,
Lined like a breadcrumb trail,
Pausing at clues,
Dotting the route.
I fiercely tug at your shirt,
At every single one,
"Look! I said this,
And how long ago!
You couldn't even..."
Your face looks sorry.
Apologies come easily for you,
Forgiveness- for me,
Till you find the next one,
And say,
"Ha, what did I tell you?"
Now the tables have turned,
I smile, sheepishly,
Subtlety is key,
but maybe,
not always.

We tread along,
Finding another one,
And another one,
Indirect indicators,
of an expression unsaid,
of such simple love,
Till we arrive at,
The beginning of time.
You had said,
"I haven't known anyone like you",
"You will never", was my reply.

And now you have,
the rest of your life
to get to know me.

Hurry,
We have less time,
and lots of
catching up to do.

I can not now string sentences,
Coherent and comprehensive,
To tell how much I like you.
So I try,
I try,
In sleeplessness,
And wakefulness,
I try,
To write you a poem,
And you must know,
I haven't written one,
Not in over a hundred days,
And you must know,
I'm writing one,
Only,
For you.
I just hope my words,
Don't come across too bland,
Too boring,
Unseasoned, uncooked,
They've been in the storage,
Cold and freezing,
For long, too long,
And now I feel,
A bit of my heart
is frozen too.
Isn't it a bit chilly tonight?
Can I hug you and sleep?
For long, too long,
For as long as I can hold you tight.
For as long as you can hold me close.

Sometimes,
I think,
I must quiet you down.
I'm sure you don't know,
Each time you tilt your head upwards,
letting out a chortle,
so easily amused,
You're loud.
So loud.
Laughter comes to you simply,
and you let it be known.
The neighbours are looking,
but neither of us care.
The Lime juice is served,
mixed with coriander leaves
instead of mint,
And you find that too funny,
But guess what's funnier?
They've added curry leaves too.

My choice of drink,
is always blue.
And that's always,
on a Sunday.
You never seem to approve,
their syrupy sweetness,
and sprightly shades,
(That match my own)
I dismiss your dissent.
I'd like to believe,
your tastes are weird.

Yesterday-
On a Sunday,
you ask me,
in all earnestness,
"But, why?"
And I tell you,
with blue stained teeth,
and blue stained lips,
in a tone so convincing,
though I'm not too convinced myself,
"This way, I can beat
in advance
the Monday Blues,
by consuming them."
Because honestly, I hadn't had any...

Until today-
On a Monday,
as I sit in my office,
and you sit in yours,
several kilometers apart.
Distanced by districts,
Separated by traffic,
The blues get to me,
and I ask myself questions,
Why
some jobs need qualifications,
Why
there are no flying cars,
Why
this city is so big,
Why
the weekend is so far.