I don’t think there’s anything called unrequited is here. 

Nights you have spend gazing the moon and trying to find those fluffy inspirations, were not unsaid. 

Men and women cross cities… stumble upon their arousing smokes, 

and go back to their breaking establishments…

it’s mundane, it’s suicidal, it’s psychopath’s murmurings, 

but it’s not unrequited. 

Urban life with it’s morning’s pretentions and sold hippie souls in last metro, will always be there…

But your affairs will always be whimsical and flying.

And i will always live in those evenings of roasted peanuts and virgin kisses, 

my city, with a buzzing college Street and some segregated and isolated Ganges, will always offer things who needs the most.

……………………………………………………………………

Photograph: Google.