Three hundred days and some more
Foot crunched leaves, drops of rain on my cracked screen-glass
Dust on my books and your heart, unstuck
My lips hang heavy with words she forbids me to speak.
Do you know what I mean?
Childhood, lonely, us against the world
Me against the storm
She dances and asks, what gives you life?
I don't understand, I eat candy and kurkure, I don't understand
Eight years old in an evening lit by an India-Pakistan match
She smiles, what can you give your life for?
I scroll through my feed, smoking in a city of tall men
I don't understand
A walk in the rain, you hold my hand.
I preach around, "give it time".
She makes me think
Do we own it? Time? There is never enough
No one enough
Footsteps fade away in a green shadow of love
My heart is deflating with every thought I air
Disgust. Despair.
I reach back to the summers when I breathed unhelped
Fell in love with a boy for one evening
And not a minute more
I remember his silly jokes.
Do you think he remembers me?
Do I remember him? I never even knew his name
I think of him sometimes
Perhaps only when it rains. 
I reach back to autumns, Pujo
Young but not reckless
With a heart which had miles to go
Every year I think how far I've come
Three hundred ... and some more.