Tuesday, March 27, 2012

My 100th Post: I Open at the Close

Early in the morning, when the alarm rings like a wheezing nun,

I wake up and hasten to hold on to my dream,

There is a hope, that it was important.

That I saw you.

And I liked it.

When the fog sneaks up on me,

When the door in my room creaks open, something threatens to wake me up.

This time, for real.

I fast.

Food makes it worse.

It’s almost as unforgivable as survival.

The race.

When I walk down the road with my eyes downcast,

The occasional chirp of a bird and the lemony leaves above,

Breathe to me, and whisper,

“Keep walking”.

I glance at my mobile,

Battery low. Late o’ clock.

“Faster. Faster!”

Dad? Is that you?

The auto jerks the goosebump away.

I forgot your touch again.

Lost in the cold winter breeze.

The auto swerves right.

Your smile. Your eyes.

The ones that never reached me.

The ones I craved.


And craved some more.

Do you know why I crave crabmeat late on a Sunday night?

Do you know why I must taste octopus when no one else wants to?

Do you know why I must always crave?

Because you don’t crave me.

And maybe, you never did.

And because you don’t want to be loved.

You don’t want to be loved by me.