inquiry

I bask on banalities.
My conflicts are lukewarm.
I have no stories to tell
but tiny moments,
fractured from life.
My imagination,
not a robust rock,
but a fickle soap.
my characters are not people,
they are peopleoid at most;
my dwellings and musings are trivial:
a curious child when he sees me smoke,
a frail lady who halts on sidewalk
while the whole world moves.
things that are casual and dont reek of profundity
simple things
like missed calls that become silences
like non taste of sugar free biscuits
like a smoker’s matchless night
I think but dont try to form thoughts
so the words sometimes lay suspended mid air
and i wonder
if i am really a poet..