Little Glass Bottles

Little glass bottles gather dust.
On their lap, a tiny rubble of white sugar balls lie still.
Months of un-use,
and you can almost expect the sweet ovals to break into a sticky sweat against the
waiting glass walls.
The mark of touchlessness shows the deepest,
and the little glass bottles don't escape it either.
I don't quite speak the language of little glass bottles but perhaps
they want to roll around inside giant school bags, clinking
against each other as you carry them around those Southern streets and then secretly,
to your little room. Perhaps they still
want to be that little form of powerless love that you reach for,
when a sudden cold or an ache
bully your toothy smile at the end of a roguish day. Perhaps they did get
used to your confused label-reading after all..a pretty pair of tired eyes,
squinting hard to tell apart a swell from a sneeze - I see how that can be the cutest goof ever:)
People, when left alone, come up with the strangest of things.
The little glass bottles just said something pretty strange too.
Of course, I don't really speak the language of little glass bottles, but
I think they said they are willing
to gather dust
forever.The tiny white sugar balls are okay with melting away in sleep, you
see?
For I could be wrong, but I think they finally trust you
to fight off the cold or the ache with just
that toothy smile of yours.


'Kuch aetbaar kia, kuch naa-aetbaar kia,
Wo bekarar rahein jisne
bekarar kia ..'