Depression and Lillies

Baba taught me that light travels faster than the sound,
But I can’t find either of them in my bedroom.
Maybe, because they’ve lost their maps
Or, are stuck in a traffic jam.
I have unlearned the art of locking the doors,
And the threshold has only seen depression crawling inside my house.
He breaks cassette players, and drops photo frames
He runs around naked,
And forgets to wear the diapers.
He pees on my granny’s sofa,
And the smell of his urine
Kills the fragrance of Lillies
That my love gifts me everyday.


When I say that there’s a house
That awaits sound and light
And stinks with depression,
I mean that there’s a heart,
A person, a unit of existence,
A body stitched with cracked bones,
A tangled mass of blue nerves,
Who eats depression everyday.
And when I say there’s a lover who gifts Lillies,
I mean that there’s another heart,
Another person, a unit of universe,
A body stitched with broken bones,
An untangled mass of blue nerves,
Who knows how to puke depression
On the dining table.


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