it’ll be 16th August-
my next birthday.
There’s half-eaten
Biryani beside me,
a bottle of beer-
I don’t even want to drink.
I’d hoped you’d call,
but I know you won’t.
Suddenly, I realize-
I’m all alone. After years.
I feel utterly lonely again.
Everything seems to
withdraw-
the disappearing moon,
the absence of
eavesdropping ears.
the strange urge
to hand over my eyes
to someone else.
And then it hits me-
there are only two
possibilities,
and I don’t know which
is worse:
that you don’t remember
my birthday at all,
or that you do-
and choose not to wish.
The clock blinks 12:00-
A quiet announcement
No one wanna hear.
I scroll through old chats.
Half-written apologies,
None worth sending.
Maybe growing older
Isn’t about aging,
But outliving the noise
We once called love.
So I raise the bottle,
Not in celebration,
But as a truce
with the silence-
To another year of
Almosts, and the slow art
of getting used to being
forgotten.