on heart and hurt.

i repeat the alphabet from a to z,
except for the letter u.
you see, when i read the letter u,
it reminds me of “u- you”
and “us”.
and then, it demands me
to cry in seven different languages.

i start learning to code
whenever someone chooses to leave.
i needed to find something hard
to keep my heart busier,
so it won’t cry in the public places.

public places doesn’t mean,
the washrooms and
the corners of the malls.
it means, in the middle of the road,
and on the front door of that blue color shop.
on the window seat of a bus,
and over the grasses of my go-to gardens.

my name and the word grief have
complete five letters.
when someone says about that,
it feels like they are calling me.
when my lover came
holding hands of our love,
my heart denied,
and stopped them.
thinking they ain’t the homies
who live in my home.

i fear my children will learn
everything about g-r-i-e-f.
what and how and where
grief is,
grief looks like,
and grief lives.
way before
they will learn anything about h-o-p-e-s.

the internet glorifies
the process of self love.
it varies from one to another.
scrolling pinterest for three hours
and eating pani poori of twenty rupees
works great, sometimes.
and the other times,
complaining, mourning, and grieving
do wonders.
love looks different
on different people,
and so does their grief.

i cover my face
hurriedly after grieving
over the loss of someone
whom i haven’t met.
sometimes it feels like,
i am doing it for my future self.

i kept repeating
cry cry cry cry cry,
but oh my silly heart!
it assumed as i was saying
try try try try try.
and so, it always did.