There are certain lines of poetry that feel less like art and more like an intimate diagnosis of unexpressed grief: "क्यों तड़पता हूँ इतना इक बस तुझे देखने को, हो सकता है, तुम्हें बनाने के बाद कुछ मिट्टी बच गई हो... और उससे मेरी आँखें बनाई गई हों।" ('Why do I ache so desperately just to catch a glimpse of you? Could it be that after crafting you, God had a handful of clay left behind... and chose to sculpt my eyes from it?') It is eerie how words written by an absolute stranger in a distant time can encapsulate the exact gravity of someone who no longer exists in your life. You go about your week pretending you've completely detached, and then four lines of verse catch you off guard in the middle of a mundane evening and rip the wound wide open.