The job I could have done.
The mountains I could
Have scaled. The lengths
I could have gone to pursue
Her and the business I
Could have built with my
Friend before I chickened out.
The pens lost, papers torn.
All the discarded paints
And paintings before
They could come to life-
All the half-hearted efforts
On a wishful stretch of life-
Seep beneath the door at
Night like flickering light.
And the kites that were deprived
Of their maiden flight, look
At the paper boats that didn't
See a rainy day-
To ask in unison about
The kid who refused to eat
The jamuns on the ground,
To enjoy the same up above
By climbing the tree.