Neurosis

I live in a lost house with four-winged rooms and a ghost cat I hate
Also, my she-shadow lives here. Unsung

Don’t chide my cell phone’s ring after all, it’s my full-time Raga, a wake-up call
Or my sleep meditation: Om Shantih Om

I turn on my flat-chested TV – my mailman, my unsmiling shrink, my alter ego’s voice
Friendship is not my neighbour anymore

The only humanness rises from an old bandhani rug that held your warmth one night. Memories match your eyes, they’re distant –

Remote as my cold dinner plate, like the puja thaali I’d forgotten. Thrown out petals of
Staid beliefs. Sandal paste of my sweat and all

Walking the dark corridors I fly like accidental leaves blown in by nightly dust storms. My void and I, slipping into a stupor