I have always wanted to live out of the pages of my favourite book,
Breathing life into the characters I’ve spent glorious portions of my life with –
Letting them knock my socks off with their magic, with their antics, with their incredible wit and unimaginable humour,
But, all I’ve ever got was only my brain frozen by, I’m certain, the invisible, almost despicable wrackspurt –
Forcing my legs to turn jelly in the middle of the road, staring at the green of the signal,
Until the traffic cop snapped my brain back from the reverie it was distracted into –
I am, perhaps, Luna’s Indian counterpart, certainly not as wise,
But definitely more weird than any author can ever visualize.