Unrequited love

You asked me, 'you're fine, na?'
Not once
But twice, to hear the same reply
'Ya ya'.
Did you decipher the hollowness
Behind the make belief emotions
Of happiness I tried to project on the day
I was born nineteen years ago?
Not the people I call ‘best friends’ found
The slightest trace of it
Or their acute awareness of my
Indifference to celebratory days
Didn’t make much of a difference.

I’d rather be in the ignorance of it
Than get to know the soulfulness
Of the question and equate it
To the level I was feeling that night.

Nevertheless I see your silhouettes
In different people I come across
Or the characters from your favourite sitcoms
And the content of the books you read
Which help me getting a glimpse onto what runs
Under those folds of your gyri and sulci
And buildings I see which remind
Me of the endeavours you behold
And sometimes, the people in them
To whom I sheepishly smile
And initiate happy conversations
As if I’m talking to
A part of you the universe
Conspired for me.

Meanwhile, in a parallel universe
You silently accuse me
Of unrequited love and I don't
Blame you for that.
For, my paradigm of love doesn't
Require constant validation and knowhow
Of each other's affairs
Of mind and body
But the comfort of assurance
Of their keen interests in them.

Conundrum

No wonder

I can't write

Happy stories,

I exhaust my

Happiness in its

Physical expression

That words no more

Make sense

When I sit down

To write.