If you,
Have been looking for
A home to call your own;
Heaviness of perfect dreams
Weighing down on
The lids of your eyes while
You solve daily crosswords
In ink,
Sipping hot coffee
Feeling cocky and confident,
Tucking a few hundred rupees
Between the pages of
Your diary;
Work late nights
And early mornings
Rain-kissed twilights too,
Shifty eyes scurrying over
The email – Car loan?
Yet to be approved;
Saving money to buy
The pair of denims
You had your eyes on
For a long time,
Only to see
It had been sold out;
Watering the plants
Every morning,
Knowing that to litter
Is to sin :
You settle as a paying guest;
The ink, blots your crossword;
Diary? – Misplaced.
You put the invoice of a scooter purchase
In your wallet’s chambers;
You pick a pair of blue jeans from the thriftshop;
(A roadside tree is felled.
A banana peel is tossed out of a car.)
You tighten the buckle
And study yourself in the mirror.
The perfect pair of jeans – secondhand.
A lot like you, a perfect misfit.
Misfit.
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