Sickness

No one but me knows sickness better It is absence of many things and Failure of longings Among many other things it is also like Bursting of a balloon Sometimes it is as if You're bitten by your pet dog While walking into morning mist When your umbrella is blown away In a rainstorm you are about to be sick And when you disobey your heart But believe in the hand on your forehead While it is only a dream You become sicker In sickness your soul is without gravity It floats up to the ceiling and Looks for openings You won't be surprised to see a beggar boy cry When he is given a piece of bread That too is a kind of sickness My friends don't be intrigued Sickness is only a scavenger Rummaging through a heap of garbage