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
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