'what a night...
And what a possibility of a day...
There is no light
But it is drizzling like very smooth
Fine drops like spray...
Small puddles being generated...
On streets...fields...parks...and minds...
And cuckoos singing...
What a night
And what a possibility of a day...'
he thought as
he got ready...
To go out again...
'And those darling buds of May
They might be still asleep...
Cosy...dreamy...
But from distance even
Calls can be heard...
Someone thinking of forgetfulness...
Someone recollecting Life faraway
Despite snowing...in a cup of warm coffee...
Someone getting drenched by rain
Falling noiseless straight into her soul...
Deleting all one's pains...
Knowing moments passed
Would never come back...'
he thought
Hearing a sweet song
Of a bird
Imagining possibilities of a day...
Though technically it was a day...
And it was a night too...
And there were drizzling shapes
All over the town...
Puddles formed here and there...
And a sea kissed breeze blowing happy...
And he thought of wearing a pair of leather gloves
And even before going out
Of having a cup of coffee...
No comments:
Post a Comment