All this baggage that covers my face;

I thought I was leaving things behind-

Umbilical cord, awkward photographs,

Waters of innocence-

Poisoned by societal belief and judgment of

Unshaven face, hairy chest,

Tattoos, piercings, and pony tails;

Impending questions-

Dream jobs, different countries,

Big monies;

Answers, mere silences;

Lots of dodging and face saving

Like on Holi,

Of a different kind.

I wish we met, after all these years,

As strangers.

You wouldn’t ask

And I wouldn’t have to make up

How I’ve been,

What I’ve been up to

But we are strangers now anyway

Of a different kind.