Your grandma passes away
While you massaged her foot.
The sudden rush of cold paleness,
Sticks to your palms.
The stingy shudder every time
You shake someone's hand-
A heightened suggestibility for
The fear of loss.
It's hard for you to look someone
In the eyes now.
Six feet graves in their names
With epitaphs on foreheads.
Crows start feeding on their
Funeral food, whenever you think
Of getting closer to someone.
You get past the barrier sometimes
But your girlfriend doesn't know
How many times she had to die in
Your head, before she could sit with
You to drink chai.