I live in a cubicle
That hasn’t enough air
That's all I can afford after three months’ prostitution salary.
Like a dull fish in a plastic bag,
I long to be free in a bigger space .


I long for things:
The fool bloom of an oblong moon on my balcony...
Flickering neem leaves dancing with the tune of rain...
A roadlamp standing against a darkened cloudy noon.

Or a morning bus ride on sloppy hillroads
surrounded by dripping greenery

Or a staurday off on a red dragonfly's tail

Or some naked steps on a muddy road on a winter night


I try to be productive in my confines
But even brushing my hair seems so tiresome
I tried to make a hole in my apartment wall,
but my eyes got stuck,
and my hands fell into the corner
like scraps of an old dampened cloth.