A silence-swathed-summer night with a hint of upcoming monsoon in the air
half of the world getting ready to drop off into a peaceful unconscious affair
I sat
high on thoughts
switching to cheek on the dusty tome as the chin now hurts
thinking of boundaries to be drawn
I-could’ve-said(s), I-could’ve-done(s)
elses to alter in the big book of my past mistakes
and precautions, if I ever hit the rock bottom
then derailing from mistakes to histrionic obsessions
the chain of weird thoughts kept me dragging
from the need-to-forget to the-desire-to-remember
it threw me somewhere in between
I gave up
my handwriting turned into some indecipherable scrawl
and that’s how I ruined a potential poetry
yawningly forgot what was I writing at all
the kadapul 