A Layer of Dew

a thing of bliss is always lovely
as and when it soothes out cuddly.

unto the layers gone afar
and the streams left to us -ajar

so every now and then
let’s hearken not nor pretend.

upon our awakes, are we wailing
with a desire to thrust out our ailing

but at times, grief is somehow brief
like a layer of dew, short-lived.

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BANGING DOORS

Over the years,
we’ve become the custodians to this property
like the sole heirs to the royal throne,
who await the day of abdication
or we’re like heads of states
in our hands lie the fates of the nations
And since we’re roofed above all,
we’re ironically the only ones
to be held responsible should anything go amiss
When regular tenants or exchange
students from neighbouring countries constrict,
even at dawn,
it’s perhaps the only escape
from the nooks and cranies of a student’s world

But we’ve rendered ourselves, trustworthy
So with each and every door slam,
we’re not taken aback
for the sake ‘yes to neighbours’
just like the days of old, or even in
the recent-past, like yesterday
As we ponder about the state of minds,
for a singular echoed reason for such gruffness
The lift even broke down, into tears one sunny summer afternoon,
right in the middle of that popular TV series,
perhaps during its commercial-break, which frequently last a breath’s mile

Banging doors, it whispered.

FORGOTTEN

I’m the smallest detail
I’m the smallest detail within a fabric,
yet unnoticed
I’m not friday evenings, or monday mornings
I’m the midday within a saturday
I’m the zeal which kindles up
when life’s not worth-living
I’m that pointed edge of a judge’s gavel,
that sounds to convict or acquit
I’m the lightest fibre within the darn
of a sock
I’m that only grey hair that stands up
with an ethnocentric demeanour
I’m the holding compartment of a toothbrush
That compartment that’s usually held
I’m the hole in the key holder
I’m that pillow case,
upon which countless dreams
and nightmares have trod
I’m that dew that usher in the dawn
or that sunrise on sundays
I’m that button around the collar
of a t-shirt that holds the tie intact
I’m that greased paper that contains
phone numbers or test pen inks
I’m the asterisk that appears when
a password is typed
I’m that corner of the house
that’s been alienated by the household
I’m either midday-breaks or the usual
coffee mug that serves breakfast
I’m the smallest detail
I’m that smallest forgotten detail