These days in college,
in my tiled box of a student-room.
In known people’s faces,
computer screens and cheap,
boring food; there is a voice
missing.

It says, “I’m ignorant”.

I’m ignorant about news,
about history and politics.
It says, I don’t know
what infects the homeless man I saw
scratching his rough hair on the road.
I don’t even know
which shampoo my friend recommended.

These days in empty walks,
in serious thoughts, slow books
and un-plucked guitar strings;
there is a voice missing.

It says, “I’m not sure”.

I’m not sure how these coins
landed up in my pocket.
It says, I’m blind to the ripped muscles
of the department store worker.
I get bothered though,
when the department store is closed
once, every month.

Somewhere between clean walls and a moving fan,
amidst loud horns, dust and bustling traffic,
I’m missing.