Who’s fault is it when impatient grows?
Who takes the credit for bringing out my worst?
The negativity that dwells from beneath rises up from the slightest thing.
Almost feels like vines around my neck, at every wrong turn.
Some days are bad, some others are good.
But mostly I choose to remember the bad; let that harbour within me.
Conscious of that bad juju;
Conscious, I must be.
Equanimity I ought to seek,
But aversions take over me.
I mostly blame the city; this massive love-hate relationship I have with it.