When my greeting reaches you,
Or just slip past by your preoccupied ignorant state;

And you face me with your eclipsed mind,
That puts on blindfold over your blind eyes;

Making me feel the chills of the winds from your side - giving me a sense of burning pain,
That mostly goes unnoticed like that finger with a paper cut,
making me cry for its existence;

The wind that mocks me for the paper cut acquired,
That my very book gave me in return of hours of my sitting with it,
And giving...