Not someplace we used to sit, We'd barely talk in the rare dry summers And if the grass itself were rough, What eloquence was the world to expect from us? So we'd mock the lovers who'd make cows out of clouds The ones so desperate about creating memories they'd forget. And each time we'd smell irony we'd look at each other And pretend- Naah. Not some song we used to hum Would ridicule me in mixtapes I now listen to With Whiskey While Whining- Winter has been too harsh this year. For souvenirs of love are heartbreaking when lovers are apart. What use a seashell without the sound of the sea? Yet my love, I never quite learned to pat my back in pity and hence Not sometime in the month of April, Just before the Bordoisila hits, I shall throw open the kitchen windows, And make myself some Nameri tea. So when it rains on your porch, You shall know some part of it was mine.
Nice thought rubina, i like your title as well as this simple and unique poetry formation.:)
ReplyDeleteIncredible idea of this picture along with the poem. Also, the idea of the poem is brilliantly explained with the help of the picture. Good work.
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