there are only five days in a week.
my cup of chai is full of drowned biscuits.
i don't remember what day it is today.
i don't own a calendar.
my neighbours are my parents. i think
they have invited me for dinner tonight.
i haven't forgotten the other two days of the week.
i just don't consider them as days. i don't even
open my eyes on Saturdays and Sundays.
my home is my bed. the windows are always shut.
work from home means work from bed.
i don't have to make dinner tonight.
the fireplace at my neighbour's slash parent's
place is unkempt. i came here for warmth.
i am not wearing socks and there are no carpets.
the food on the table is microwaved:
leftovers from lunch, soft parathas and aloo bhaja.
they want me to sleep over.
but i'd rather cry at home. on my bed.
A monochromatic leaves enthusiast, Divyanshi Dash (she/her) believes in poetry as a prayer. Her work has appeared in The Walled City Journal, Sapphic Writers, and Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine among others. She is currently based in New Delhi, India. You can find more of her at https://divyanshidash.carrd.co!