I write about simple things that often miss one's eyes in a very simple language. Striving to be simpler with time and experience.
Started out as a writer. Realised there are no good writing platforms for smartphones. Started YQ with Ashish. Now on a mission to make the world write. Reach me at firstname.lastname@example.org for any help/collaboration.
My last book, Green Mango More: Stories from Childhood (2015), is a collection of 36 funny tales from my childhood. Check it on Amazon below.
I accidentally remembered the times
when we were together,
that particular moment when you were in office
and texted me that you read
written by your stalker
about us. You were rattled.
Instead of sympathizing,
I asked curious questions.
How did you encounter it?
You said you’d blocked him.
Somebody shared it, you’d said.
I went deeper into technicalities,
you won’t be able to see it
if indeed he was blocked.
You got further rattled.
When I called 10 mins later,
you lost your temper at me.
Shouted the hell out of your voice.
You were in office then.
Probably around your colleagues.
I didn’t feel good about it.
I didn’t mention.
I don’t know how to take offense.
It hurts me more than others,
so I don’t. You do.
In the evening, you reprimanded me
and I apologized for being insensitive.
I still don’t know
how could you encounter that stalker’s poem.
Maybe you kept checking his profile
from time to time.
Maybe you didn’t block him.
My curiosity still remains unanswered.
All I am left with is
a blot of memory,
which makes me feel humiliated
even months after it first occurred.
It was better when you were around.
the newer bad memories we made
eclipsed the older ones —
which, like tar lining my lungs,
are blood clots in my arteries,
making me restless,
every time I remember them.
Maybe, you shouldn’t have left.
I can always trade
old bad memories
for fresh bad moments.