I’m in the mood to dance and sing or write poetry. But I’m stuck at my table, next to a windy window. I want scream, shout and dance, but I’m stuck to my freaking chair.
I am listening to songs I like, doing things I don’t enjoy write now. I like a song about underwear, and then I listen to a carnatic song (devotional) by the rockstar M S Subalakshmi, whom I adore.
It’s confusing, because one minute I love you, the next I don’t, later I hate you and after that, I just think your pretty.
Then a gust of wind slowed down, the birds chirped and I stared outside the window. A little bird sat there, singing, not to its friends, not to the trees, not for the bees and butterflies, but to the pretty pretty Sky.
They told it was going to never happen, yet you smiled, we spoke, laughed and tried. Where this is going, I don’t know.
I listened to people talk. I care, I cared, I’ve cared and now I don’t anymore, at least I think I don’t.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s