Each time I buy a pack,
shrink-wrapped and delicious,
they come home with the promise
of changing my world.
I am inspired.
I quickly pull out an old, parched marker.
Sometimes, even buy a new one, specially.
To scribble a reckless future on yellow, flaky paper
that dangles precariously on cracked walls.
Like the tomorrow of consummate lovers.
The world is my oyster.
The goals carefully marked out, in capital,
stare at me, every day.
I throw my life aspiration into the arms of the universe.
Just as certain books ask me to.
Time passes.
I wear silly, green slippers and run sloppily in drizzling rain.
Glint in the eye, beaming smile.
Say kem cho to the friendly stationery shop uncle,
and spurt out my favourite line.
"Uncle, ek Post-It Notes nu packet aap jo ne"
Hope is a motherfucker.
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