Interview with Emptiness

  
 To know what's wrong with me, I need five minutes of your time.
 You have no time. You're busy. Terribly busy.
 I'm hurt, but you can't see it.
 I want to die, but you don't believe me.
 Like the heroines in your poems, I too want to die.
 You understand nothing about me.
  
 Lately, going to bed, I think: let this sleep never break.
 Sleep breaks, and again you give me no time.
 Will you ever spare just two minutes for me?
 No, you don't have to. Don't. You do nothing for me.
 Who am I to you? Nobody at all...
  
 My belly is full of hunger. No one tells me to eat.
 Perhaps I'll fall asleep again. No one to wake me.
 If sleep doesn't break, no one will know, no one will look for me.
 No one asks after me. I don't like any of this.
  
 I annoy you. This I know.
 This isn't right. I know that too.
 I often feel I have so much to tell you.
 Then again, I think if you really gave me time,
 I wouldn't be able to say anything at all.
  
 Don't come here. You're far too busy.
 If you came, I'd want to hold you and cry.
 You'd leave then without even looking at me.
 You'd say nothing to me. You have nothing to say.
 I can't bear your busyness. Something's happened to me...
  
 These days you're winning over everyone.
 And these days you no longer love yourself.
 Those who win over everyone — not one of them loves themselves.
 I'm not used to seeing you like this.
 I don't like it; I've never dreamed of you in this shape.
  
 Lose for a while.
 Laugh, live. If you feel like it... cry! Breathe deeply. See green, touch flowers.
 Just laugh once, laugh from your heart. You'll see — you've won.
 You're not moving forward, you're only walking. You're not like this at all.
  
 Give me some of your pain.
 Don't stay so heavy. Think of me as someone to hurt. Just once?
 Open your eyes, see the tears in mine. Will you wipe them away?
 I have no pain, don't be afraid. Now you wipe away tears.
  
 I've learned to compromise with everything.
 It's beautiful, it's smooth. It's hard to wound me now.
 You're not wiping my tears. You're disappearing again.
  
 My pillow is getting wet. You understand nothing.
 Give me your address. A courier will come.
 Please receive it. This wet pillow is no use to me.
  
 After many, many, many years I wore a saree today.
 And after taking a selfie in the saree
 I called you in my mind. Said three things.
 One. I don't understand your poetry. Explain poetry to me.
 Two. A little while ago a small sorrow grew in me. I made a cup of milk-tea with such care and came to the balcony, but an insect fell in the tea. So I'm sad. Make me feel better.
 Three. I want so much to trouble you. But I'm also afraid — what if you scold me!
 ...Oh yes, one more thing. The selfie came out nice. I want to send it to you.
  
 I sang a song and recorded it. It sounds terrible. Should I send it to you?
  
 I don't understand why I'm doing this. It's not right.
 Let me see what I can do. Perhaps I can do nothing at all.
 I can't sleep, but I'll lie down anyway.
  
 You were never this cruel before...