She calls me too often
To tell me stories she conceived every day...
She tells me stories of severe ramifications,
Of people she met across the street,
At the bus-stop, at beauty salon,at the eateries,at a public loo,
On occasions equally varied-
Early in the morning, at sunset evenings, at frosty daybreak, on a wet afternoon...
She calls me to tell stories
Every night,
As if she had been part of them ...
And listening to her ramblings,
I believe I'm also there somewhere,
In varied shapes and forms,
I feel all her stories involve me...
I believe I am the book myself!
To tell me stories she conceived every day...
She tells me stories of severe ramifications,
Of people she met across the street,
At the bus-stop, at beauty salon,at the eateries,at a public loo,
On occasions equally varied-
Early in the morning, at sunset evenings, at frosty daybreak, on a wet afternoon...
She calls me to tell stories
Every night,
As if she had been part of them ...
And listening to her ramblings,
I believe I'm also there somewhere,
In varied shapes and forms,
I feel all her stories involve me...
I believe I am the book myself!
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