In the open expanse of the beach
stretched out too sunny, too bright
for my eyes to even stay open at 4:30 (pm), I 
sit cross-legged thinking about closed things. 

We have borrowed time from the very many
miseries created by ourselves, for ourselves; you
taking time off from the path of destruction you
have been paving for quite long, me 
from the heartbreak and ache and trust-break
I caused someone else. Removing memories 
at the doorstep, stripping tees to make new ones
that’ll probably never go beyond the room; 
simply out of the curiosity to know what it is, 
that which was already tattered and 
torn before it could even be worn. 

My thoughts oscillate to and from; 
slow in pace like the waves at this time
of the day; from this endless expanse to your 
room. A strange delirious energy takes over us
which pops sharply with the ferocity only a 
red balloon bursts with, as the door opens
for me to leave, to return back to the sea 
of insecurities. 

Jeet Thayil gave me company for a while,
his collected work, now sitting next to me
keeping my phone sand-safe as I attempt my own
hand at some poetry that maybe some other
will carry with them for company 
to the beach, to the mountains or at least
to rooms to be read out to someone.

(To Jeet Thayil and not crowded beaches)