That Boy

Sex is the consolation you have when you can’t have love.


I don’t have a friend whom I can call my buddy. Cannot remember the names of those books which were my obsession once. Now nothing is dearest. Actually dear is such an empty word. Like a soundless night standing in silence. Arranged in stacks and rows dusty pale a little dull maybe. This heavy wooden table of my father is with me for a long time now. It was still with me after my sister lost one of her eyes from the prick of one of its corners. In these days of fix and deceit maybe this was the only silent pleasure the only dearest whom you cannot disgrace by repainting it.


You know nothing of love
You know nothing of love