20 June, 2023
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(art is prolly just finding different ways of talking about how people keep fucking us up)

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And when Delhi grows too bright and opens its mouth too wide
I return to Guwahati to feel small again
To cradle my loneliness in both arms.
This city and I, we do not hold hands
And we do not cry in front of each other.
On most days, this city forgets my existence
And yet I write poems for it
Call it beautiful when the skies are overcast
Forgetting the harshness of summers and the indifference of winters
Because I love this city with a blindfold over my eyes
With an inevitability I claim I cannot fight
With a fierce fondness this city has never felt for me
Because on days, this city just dry humps against me
And then doesn't care to text me back.