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I posted a picture on the internet today,
after handpicking the best of all.
While she is left with no choices,
so she walks on the roads that burn
carrying herself upon her feet that bleed.

I took my camera and checked up the lighting,
as I wanted the picture to look 'natural' and 'candid'.
A cameraman rushes to her to click a picture
as he is a magazine photographer searching for stories real.

I sweated and protested about the scorching heat
while I set up my camera.
She wipes the sweat off her father's forehead
on which the glabellar lines cease to exist,
while hers is carrying the roots and branches of it.

I held books in my hand to strike a pose
as my fingers laid in front,
whose nails I painted yellow for this summer.
She holds the handlebars of her bicycle she can no more hold or paddle,
her nails have painted themselves with the colour of mud.

I clicked too many pictures for me to count or recall.
Even after thousands, she remembered how many miles is home.


I captioned my picture
'No more lonely quarantine',
She hardly knows alphabets or words to even ask for help.

I swiped from filter to filter
selecting an 'aesthetic' one.
She drinks the pitch-black liquid,
they tell her is water,
without even demanding for 'cleaner' one.

I finally edited and made a perfect picture,
with my wide grin sealed with a gloss,
And the cameraman too asks for her to smile for once.
She with her deserted lips forms a curve that makes the cameraman frown.

He deletes the picture from his camera
as it would be disliked by all,
It got 1.9k likes,
The picture I posted on the internet today.
I will wait
For you to scramble
And dig around
The shallow stream
Of your being
And tell you
One last time
To maybe, wait,
Take a minute
To soak up that water
And grow into the
Majestic mighty
You were meant to
And, maybe realise
To look beyond
The vision
That your eyes
Can offer
Into mine
The fingerprints etched
Over my soul.
"Be a better person," you said
"Get out of it"
Don't you see I can't?
"This is all your fault"
"The demons you've made up
Don't even exist!"
But you've not met them.
"You have everything you'll ever need,
Everything you want"
Then why do you smile
At my helplessness?
"You've changed!"
" I don't like you anymore"
So to suit you,
I've improved my ways
There are better things
Better methods to cause pain
Apart from that knife you took away
And that blade
And that clip
And that scissor
Without evidence
Without scars
" It's all in your brain"
Rotting from within
You're right.
Bit by bit by bit
Until all of me is consumed
Bit by bit by bit
Until it's too late.
I wait with my eyes
Open to slits
Like the Cresent outside
For the minute the doors are closed
And the lights shut off
Finally bathing me in darkness
And invite my old friend in
And cry with him for hours
Beside me
While he whispers
" Nobody loves you"
And
"You're ugly"
So I make myself much more
Puffy eyes
And dead cheeks
Waiting yet again
For that reunion
Day after day
Alone in my bubble
Of hate and pain
And feel at home.
He says he loves me.
But of all the poems he wrote,
none had me.
The sun burns brighter today.
I think another poem for the moon is completed.
Poems which rhyme are written with rhythm in the ears,
Poems which do not are written with kaleidoscope in the eyes.
He speaks words
that melts my heart
like the fire burning in a Christmas furnace
which releases hope in every spark.

He speaks words
that dance together
on the music of his heartbeat,
on the stage of mt heart.
So with every word he speaks,
I come alive.

He speaks words that spark joy
like the firecrackers on a black windy night.
like the daffodils, Wordsworth talked about.
So every time he speaks
my heart does not skip a beat
But rather doubles it.

He speaks words
that I have never heard
Like the retro songs, no one recalls
And are yer loved by all.
So nostalgia makes me sing his words.

He speaks words
that I like to hear
as a morning song or night tale.
So when he speaks I sink in his stories
of how he wants us to be.

He speaks words
that kiss each other
with love in the consonants
and passion in every vowel
Just like how he kissed me
when I told him I love him.

He speaks words
that belongs to me
Every sentence he speaks
I call mine,
like every inch of his body.

He speaks words
that have poems written on them.
Written but never read.
So every word he speaks
I keep in my heart
like I do to him.
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