There is a book that lies on one of my bookshelves that I will never open again.
The yellow cover will only become yellower.
Dust will settle on the edges of the paper and stay there.
This is the only change it will see.
Soon it will smell differently,
But I will never know this,
Because I will never smell it again.
There is a book that lies on one of my bookshelves that I will never open again.
Its spine will never see a crease.

I never finished reading it to you.





Someone told me that through restlessness is born creation.
I have a restless heart and soul. (You knew that. You saw that.)
I’ve always had, and the only way I can make sense of this world is through words.
We’re all waiting to be heard. Open mics, a breezy veranda, echoing classrooms.
But you,
You listened.

Our poetry was different. It was quiet. It was brimming with dreams. Our dreams.

With you, everything made sense.
You’re the only word I’ve ever needed.

There is now a permanency in the absence of that word,
And I try not to cave in, but I know I will sometimes.
I’m doing my best.
I’ll see you soon.

Your loving granddaughter

Every wound is raw

It has come; that time we had spoken of. Those plans we had planned. Those tiny to massive dreams we had always dreamt of; dreams for me. I have taken those baby steps we had slightly joked about.

And you are not here.

I have lost one of the two storytellers of my life. I have lost my philosopher and also my listener. I have lost the person who could see me…really see me. I have lost you and hence lost too many things.

It’s a new place, this city. New, not for my eyes, but for my heart. And I have so much to tell you, from funny stories of college to that kite that fell from the sky today. So much.

I love my college. But it is these tall buildings that irk me. I can’t look at the sky properly at night. I can’t look at you.

And I miss you.