Consequence of a monologue,
redundant amidst the luminous hope,
same duality of echoes that know of
personal abnormalities since birth,
bipolar system of life and death,
working in concert like a prisoner
and his seven square meter cell.
These clinical corrections advocated
by health providers,
not as therapeutic as meditation
on the pursuit of happiness.
The knowledge, I am gifted less time,
makes me choose only those who
I see any person-hood now, short-lived
or long-lived with the lens of suicidal eyes,
like green certainty of a spring’s blind.
Sunny narrative of liberal arts
arguing the existence of God,
even an atheist secretly worships,
none but his unanswered wrath.
I chose to run away for sometime
to people who did not sympathize,
in foreign lands where languages
remained unfathomed and
maneuvered walks of mates
greeted alike new found blizzards,
indeed I broke down sometimes
into the warm estranged palms felt
like my own mom’s,
silence behind irises meant to hide.
I am not taught how to think,
but eminently what to think by
I do not take suffering seriously,
however I do pity healthy friends
contemplating self murdering.
Imperial foreword to the 2016 edition,
would like to quote sir Albert Camus’s,
–“There is no love of life without despair
Count not the days but memories you
tend to make.