Saturday, October 15, 2011

And it stays-

Once every winter morning
when the sun in this town of mine
is too lazy to wake up
and little dew drops clasp my window,
my window turns into a canvas of a smokescreen,
of fog
and recollections

I draw your face in it
and the tiny water droplets
flow like a tear through your eyes
your image is what I hold onto

Once every winter morning
the season stays
with the fog
and dew
and me

On other days I write
like there has been nothing
I ever knew,
that resembled you

...I write of the seasons
and the city
and the people
and the unnamed,
intangible,
guileless emotions
of mundane

But I write not about you
but voids
so that the melee of my words
abandon me
and am left alone
barren of my poetries
and my stories
and my defenses

...So that am left alone just with you...

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