I spend my days in grieving.

It's not the best pastime

But I don't really have a choice.

Your remembrance is paining me,

Krishna.

I can't believe I just said that.

Days and nights don't make a difference to me

When your life is a rainless August night

The world's perception of the sun rising

Makes no sense to me.

I am indifferent to all the other pains

Breaking my back or an insect bite

For the pain of the heart I have decided to prioritise.

It's so possessively mine.

But there is one time of the day

I don't grieve.

But I smile like a sweet child

That is when I open

My poetry book Krishna.

It has always made my heart dance

And my soul flutter

So little words

So many emotions

It gives me unending chills.

Who am I telling,

My poetry book is filled with you Krishna.

Every word of it

Every syllable of it.

Isn't it ironical, how

You make me weep,

Yet it is you alone

Who makes me smile pristinely?