What makes emptiness alive? (Read Caption) I am deprived of emotions, it's like a sale and I am sitting on a weighing machine trying to balance things out, for the sake of feeling things, so that I can sleep peacefully. I never knew when expectations took shape of surprises for me, when I sold out my house for home to renovate it with dust, I breathe out as a souvenir. Anything happening in the middle of sentence, felt like change of conversation, and I dived along with it, like the story I am meant to be. The air feels way heavier than my bagpack, in which I collected a scrapbook of memories, that felt like vacivity, vacating space for my poem to sit down, on some parallel line which I drew while walking on edges. I have a friend in disguise, who makes her teeth whiten when truth lay undress, hidden somewhere behind them, so she can wear mask of her choice as pretending becomes the only option, she can wear. I envy her, for the retro shoes, that amalgamated her lies with history, asking for the evidence, When was the first time emptiness walked on earth? Broken. Was it the day, when a beloved longed for his soul to come back home, when his love was seized in a fortress? Beautiful. Or was it the night when moon got craters? Peace. A story got burnt and I felt like I can't breathe in the ashes. The solitude receded like days on a trip and I came back home, empty handed, bringing nothing for my mother, while she calculated each day as a night, running like a mad woman, who just lost her kids in a war. Numbers became decimal point, when my name paused on her lips after every sentence she talked about me, and I wrote her letters telling, Mother, I am almost there. I became helpless like a writer finding for story, to find myself somewhere in the era of modern India. I walked a bit like a trance fading away relevance of solitude, when I stopped among the pillars of false hope, and tranquility became an ephemeral mythical creature. I followed his footsteps, emptying the corners of my bookshelf, when my lover came and asked me, "What makes emptiness alive?" ______________________ #wcvacivity #yqbaba #homelesspoet #home #uneditedverses
