Certain Days

Only few things get me through bad days.

Prateek Kuhad’s songs.

A perfect cup of tea.

The clouds.

Poetry.

Today,

None have worked.

The songs kept playing, I didn’t hear a word being sung.

I sipped the tea, but couldn’t taste it.

The clouds swept by, keeping me livid.

Poetry seems to make no difference.

Now I wonder,

What am I missing here,

A certain song,

Or a certain voice.

A certain ingredient,

Or a certain touch.

A certain cloud,

Or a certain sky.

A certain something,

Or a certain someone.

FLY, I SAY