The New Me

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Abstract

turb me, I am listening old songs which remind me of those old days when I would be lost in nonsensical dreams and was trying to analyse life.Coming back to today’s story everything is same for me or maybe I am pretending to act normal in this new life, now that I don’t go out for the regular walk each day I mentally add the things to buy in my mind, that’s the only outing which I am doing every 15 days which looks like a different vacation to me because my own city looks so new to me.Today I kept the dried masks with towels, another new thing to wash along with other clothes. So now we have four cloth masks and on two of them I

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have marked our name because they all look the same.While my mind is trying to adapt to this new normal there’s anxiety about my family in India which keeps me awake at night, when nothing helps I start editing my old poems or start writing new poems.I don’t know when this will end but now I am worried how many more words do I need to become normal again, how many poems will be drowned in the ink of the sky to chase moon behind the clouds.The poet in me is tired of these words, the writer in me is always burdened with stories, stories which if I don’t write they will cling to me.</article></body>

a reflection about life during Covid 19 Pandemic

Can this solitude be rootless, unhooked from the ground? no matter, the mind resides both inside and out. - Jenny Xie

I am sitting in the comfort of my room surrounded by books and my journals where I copy the quotes which speak to me, I am pretending that I am in a cafe where no one would disturb me, I am listening old songs which remind me of those old days when I would be lost in nonsensical dreams and was trying to analyse life.

Coming back to today’s story everything is same for me or maybe I am pretending to act normal in this new life, now that I don’t go out for the regular walk each day I mentally add the things to buy in my mind, that’s the only outing which I am doing every 15 days which looks like a different vacation to me because my own city looks so new to me.

Today I kept the dried masks with towels, another new thing to wash along with other clothes. So now we have four cloth masks and on two of them I have marked our name because they all look the same.

While my mind is trying to adapt to this new normal there’s anxiety about my family in India which keeps me awake at night, when nothing helps I start editing my old poems or start writing new poems.

I don’t know when this will end but now I am worried how many more words do I need to become normal again, how many poems will be drowned in the ink of the sky to chase moon behind the clouds.

The poet in me is tired of these words, the writer in me is always burdened with stories, stories which if I don’t write they will cling to me.