By Jay Urmode
How are you?
People ask,
Do they really mean it,
Or after listening they may say unfit,
I just say I am fine,
‘Cause we talk only while we dine.
Are you ok?
People ask,
Do they really mean it,
They ask while looking at my slit,
I don’t really need anybody to throw light,
But be with me while I fight.
I love you,
People say,
Do they really mean it,
They don’t think twice before they commit,
Love means both joy and pain,
But at the same time, tears shed like rain.
I hate you,
People say,
Do they really mean it,
It hurts when these words hit,
These words carry a lot of load,
Which will someday explode.
I am sorry,
People say,
Do they really mean it,
Or all of this is a part of a skit,
It can transform the ugliest moment into the most beautiful gift,
Which will save two people from a drift.
I am quitting,
People say,
Do they really mean it,
They might as well take a slit,
The only thing they need is hope,
Which will save them from using a rope.
I am alone,
People say,
Do they really mean it,
They can’t adjust and don’t fit,
It is a feeling of emptiness yet so full of emotions,
A feeling that is craving for somebody’s devotion.
I am broken,
People say,
Do they really mean it,
They carry a lot of pain filled with guilt,
They are putting themselves together to be the most beautiful people,
But they are still finding their path while threading a needle.