People have their own poisons
Melrose or Udaan, you choose?
before you make a judgement,
not all tormentors die or leave you so easily
everyone is a culprit
everyone has abetted your suffering
your penance lies in forgiving, they tell you
but did they live it
did they answer your calls?
do they wake up sweaty palmed
where were they
the duct-tapes
you fling the middle finger
walk away
and that's about it
just like they had, subtly so
looters, of small untimely victories, of fleeting joys
those who made you run barefoot
those who let the blisters underneath accumulate
some really just like watching the world burn
and not all are jokers
he at least has an aptitude for smartness
teeming with desperation
palpitating you had made calls
unanswered calls beget ignorance
now you sit
a stiff glass of gin and tonic by your bedside
you spew
the venom of the morning
in the scathing, unforgiving evening
monsters seldom vanish
they ought to be vanquished
erased
how though
your call