Even the word
belongs to a different time.
Prehistoric, animistic times
of a personal civilization.
the school albums in mind
I add flesh to the hollow cheeks
and bones to the balloons.
Though well connected I am
with all the gadgetry
I still lose out on some of them.
The guy who had lot of money.
The absolute failure in all classes.
The Prometheus who whispered
how children are born.
A secret he stole from the creator.
The one who had generous parents.
The one who talked a lot of pulp.
There is always, the one
who followed a girl.
The one who thought that romance
was smiling silently in a crowded bus.
There is that someone, who always felt
really out of place, so much so that
he never left to venture out.
The autistic one whom I might've made fun of.
The one who just visited during the exams
Who could move only his hands due to a spinal snag.
These and the other ones, the ones known
The ones who are vocal beyond the usual clamor
will have found their best friends.
And lost them too, to the world
so that there's an alcove
on whose window sill sitting
one can admire a landscape, that was childhood.