To The Remains Of My Un-tortured Past ---Part One

Those who read this can send me money. Or they could go out of their houses on a winter afternoon. If their places do have a river, I would be satisfied. They could also go and make a courtesy visit to someone they haven’t been able to meet for quite sometime. Anything could have prevented them. After all it has been such a busy day so far. And its not guaranteed that you find a moment to look at the sky and wonder. How chilling the wind is. It wouldn’t be wrong if you don’t call it a wind, frozen swords cutting your face without mercy. But I wouldn’t unnecessarily hold you. Its obvious from your face that you have been riding for nearly an hour in this cold. Its good that you reach home as early as possible. So you see, how considerate and understanding I have been. That has been my way since I woke up today to a morning alarm set on my cell phone.

And the ones who don’t read it can always find me dying with moths in the last light of existence.

To a night..

To a night
You promised
An echo of your laughter and miles of your brown skin

Your possible touches
And an infinity of your absence
Were all mine
After you left

I feared to think
That you might just have forgotten
There still were breaths
Floating on a nights back

And promises
To be kicked like a football