To my dearest, Jeet
I wait for you to come up
with words that I need
to hear right now,
yesterday, the day before
to no avail
You are a man of words
who prefers silence
metaphors out of madness
like the bigger picture
made up of small pleasures
I am counting crows
waiting for a dispatch
you promised me
right now, yesterday, the day before
to no avail
It’s waiting on the end of the world
a cessation redoubled
a hurt carried in the heart, succumbing to
some age-old, learned helplessness
Riya S. is a student of History, Literature, and Sociology, currently working as a counseling associate in New Delhi. She likes to read poetry, non-fiction essays, travel literature and is interested in theories of affect. She hopes that one day she will be able to open an artist residency and house all her friends under one roof.
