Selling Pain

One of my friends is
Seeing a therapist and
He laid out in front of me
The cost of his therapy.

The aggregate amount he
Spent over the past three years
Was nearly two lakh rupees,
That got me into a calculation.

The per cost of his pain
And depression was around
Two hundred per day.
That's almost double-

The per-day cost of my
Breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Pain is expensive I realised.
I bought a weighing machine
To quantify every ounce of mine.
Kilograms of pain and tons of

Misery every week-
In lumps, sheets, and heaps.
Clogging bathroom drains,
Some, as stench under my bed.

Some of it soaked, wrung
And put on the railing to
Eat sunlight. Some of it
Swept in a corner to discard.

Some of it spread on paper
With pen and ink and
Sometimes colors and
Blood-ridden cravings.

Sitting in my melancholic hill,
I saw someone frame his
Mental state in a Gallery to sell it
To the geeks who find in it meaning.

I wish there was Khatana Bhai
To stop my Janardhan to waste
His pain over the samosa chutney
And instead, make him hold it

In his loose fist to throw it
At rock music. As Jordan
Was just the pain that was
Sold well.