When you are tired from the physical work and your mind wants to rest, I engage you in a child-play on those trees of my Champak-Van with the companions that we hold close to our hearts.
And when we all are exhausted, we refresh ourselves with the sport of our Over-self.
When you sit in your chamber during those dark hours; your being is surrounded by a dead air and your head grows restless and giddy; I creep in slowly, unseen, with a minimal sound of the opening of the door and seat myself in the corner watching you.
When your hand fumbles over the stylus of your cell-phone and your being wants somebody to hold you against the shoulder, I have my un-touching hand stretched out.
When that spherical shape of fluid finds its way out of that ellipsoidal pearl on your face and you find it difficult to resist star-gazing, I carry on the talk to make sure you don’t have to speak.
When I talk to you, I don’t feel I am talking to you. I simply feel that I am thinking aloud.
When you try to be alone, you draw me closer; when you try to avoid me, you bind me with a singular thought of yours.
When you respond to our conversation with a ‘huh’, I feel something from inside me made that sound.
I don’t pray that may I get you. I don’t feel the need to like you or love you. I even don’t call you mine.
I call you…me.