How to (truly) listen

To a friend who wants to talk:

With restraint,

where no words can leave you

in exchange for the words you’ve heard.

No, This Did Not Happen To You Too.

No, You Don’t Know Exactly What That Means.

To a song:

On a walk, in a bus,

in an auto, while looking out of the window of a moving car.

like the world is a movie

and you’re playing its soundtrack.

To the breeze for just a second:

With your eyes closed.

To voice notes:

In 2x.

To fruits:

In a crunch, in a gush, in squished and smothered pulp,

in the scattering of shiny chikoo seeds into a smooth ceramic bowl.

To what’s unsaid:

In dropped hints that ring through awkward silences

and drawn out sighs,

in unanswered smiles, clipped texts and burnt toast.

You listen, by looking.

To the sounds of greenery:

By yourself. Between the huffs and puffs of a long walk.

To morning birds:

Like you just discovered that birds sing every morning

to tell their partners, “I’m alive, I’m ok.”

To the sounds of the night:

Like you’re not alone, and someone somewhere also just heard the things you heard and you’re sharing the sounds of

a bike throttle, a neighbour’s footsteps in the apartment upstairs, the chorus of crickets, a creaking door and a sip of water coursing down your throat.

To a new lover:

Like a sponge, absorbing, assimilating,

anticipating, engaging, offering, accepting

and returning in kind.

To an old lover:

Like you’re listening to a new lover.