I can't write a poem.

I can’t write a poem tonight,

I went outside and took some pictures,

And my right shoulder is aching.

I can’t write a poem tonight,

My brain is too full: I’d rather

Write something really really (really) long,

So that people know what I’m thinking about—

Not that that’s interesting; who I’m thinking about

Would be more enticing to read

And to know, quite frankly.

I can’t write a poem tonight

Because pouring myself out would be so much easier

Than freezing myself into short lines

(They read like stubble, not a long, flowing beard.)

You should know that you’re the one

Who made me want to capture in prose again

You’re almost like a plucked marigold flower—

It hurts a lot, but you still love helping people;

And sometimes it hurts me that you’re hurting.

I can’t write a poem tonight,

I’m thinking about you:

Not that I mind.

~Vruta Gupte.

Modern Breakup Story.

The Perks Of A Not-So-Smart Phone

Still waiting.
Ping, ping.
Unlocked screen.
I saw another name.
I locked it again.
I sent a message five minutes ago.
You'd replied to the message I sent before that.
But you'd read this one.
And you hadn't replied yet.
You kept me waiting.
I shouldn't have enabled the ‘send read report' option.
But now it's grayed out and I can't do anything but wait.
Such a calamity.
Still waiting.

~ Vruta Gupte.