Your eyebrows may arch upward in surprise, when I tell you this.
A delicious contentment spreads over my spine, which visits me repeatedly,
when I am out there, managing my role in the wretched world. 
Men always remember to draw some comfort from my voice and me. 
Especially, when I am lying in the bed waiting for the demons in me 
to come out and fall over everything in the room.
A few men speak to me from the bars where they try to see the world through 
a beer glass, while a few watching the ember of a cigarette skipping from the 
window of a speeding cab, on their way back home. 
The location could be different, but the script reads quite familiar to me.
They, initially, make love to my name, and then charge forward. They absolutely 
have no regrets of having broken my heart or having bruised me through unkind 
words hurled at me, on some evening. 
They breathe into me certain disappointing developments - they met in the coffee shops, 
in the bed, at the apartment door, in the lift, on a leisure cruise, so on and so forth.
Oh with what a dignity these men perform, the pain stuck in their throats acquires
a sharper intensity. I lie face down, listening to their voices, so close, resonating deep 
within the inner ear of my soul. 
How many of them, as I write this line, would be struggling with this need for 
a mate to connect with? a need to pull someone closer and to curl into the smooth 
skin of her neck? a need to escape from the painful storm raging outside his windows, 
threatening to rip apart his existence? a need to avoid staring at the field of emptiness
in the middle of the room?  
The world is made of unquestionable and unpleasant developments, and there is so 
much material for one to write poems. I could write one on the man’s hand stretched 
across the back seat of the cab, which is before my car. I could write a learn and do book 
“how to face such occurrences with no hint of depression on your pillow”. 
Have not I read some time ago – and, above all, the heaviness, and the long experience 
of love, just what is wholly unsayable. 
Irritatingly enough, I find my heart hardened with each conversation of such kind.