Fabricated

The flowers in the shop
are all plastic, except a few twigs.
The friendship around
a veneer, leaving a few souls.
The emotions that touched
were lifeless, except yours.
The prayer with the priest,
a ritual.
The light this diwali,
flickered, but not of a candle.
My comfort, in you.

Is real;

Rest all is fabricated.


Coming back to Delhi I realised that seeing it as a passerby I witnessed some of the things missed earlier. They were somehow fogged by the banality of everyday. Like a fish to water or bird to air, it just wasn’t visible to me before. But this time I saw Delhi different, every small thing represents a facet of something bigger and life in general. A simple visit to my local florist made me realise how much life had changed; he had almost all bunches of plastic flowers, except a few withered ones.

People were almost happy in their own sweet world, friendship a name given to a chuckle shared by two people.

The broken images is what that was left and I fabricated a fast one to please my soul. Its all about comfort-value.