Nothing moves in this hour
Except crimes to be reported next day.
your memories like a crisis unfold
I did not ask for them to visit
Un-happened events ,
Words on empty pages
become actions in imagination
Scented breath on the nape of my neck
AC is lower than 23degrees ,
I sneeze waking up to a rude bed
Why am I not getting used to
an absence …..?
When presence was always an imagination?