I open my door-
So mechanistically that my hands,
Do not feel the keys anymore.
I step into a house filled-
With darkness so deep that you,
Feel like you are in a black hole.
I drop everything I have-
Lay inanimately on bed that makes me;
Question – Am I living (or) existing?
I close my eyes, for respite,
To fill my mind with you –
Restless soul feels revived,
A light lingers in my black hole.
Fingers starts to feel your fist,
While my eyes yearns for yours,
A sea of tranquility drowns me-
As your face and shadow fall on me,
Feeling it I smile after quite a while –
Though you’re afar many a mile.
In these turbulent times of quarantine,
My thoughts of you are umpteen,
Because, I feel like you are the key-
That opens the door to living, and not existing.