I once thought
I'll be an awesome singer.
A breathtaking tabla player.
A fabulous designer.
An erudite poet.
An interior designer.
A dangerous spin bowler.
I once thought I could be anything,
Anyone.
Yet
Here it is
Another birthday
And here I am
Sitting in a peculiar remote place
With barely anyone around
Except frightful mountains -
Drowned in paperwork
Adding subtracting numbers -
Money somebody
Owes to someone else.
Solving riddles in a strange dialect.
Construction work that
Tires the ears.
Screaming that keeps even
Birds away.
(A 'Christina's World' kind of ambience
set in Kashmir
with added local macabre)
Thinking about nothing else other than
The necessity
To keep my organs from failing
By eating and drinking at regular periods of time.
Trying hard
To be alive
For the next day.
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