I don’t write poems anymore.
Words are harsher,
Emotions colder.

Life’s not exactly non-rhythmic
It’s not cold or dead
But my words seem to have died out

The belief in the mankind isn’t yet dead
The longing for the greenlands still getting stronger
I am scared of the days when I become a proper Indian wedded wife
Wed into one of those flats in this hot city
My walks, my freedom, my sea and the little bits of greenery
All cut out and put in the confines of the apartment walls

I know I don’t have to worry so much,
India’s never devoid of life,
However thick and sweaty it gets,
So I needn’t worry.
Even if there aren’t grasses anymore,
There will be humans, lots of them
To be trampled upon and who would
Trample you too,
All in a hurry,
To catch something