A letter to belle amie

A letter to belle amie
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Thought for months
To sit at my desk
And write a long letter
To your address,
Facing the window
The gulmohor tree
Redness when will spread
All over me,
Thought to write a letter
Long and wide
Catching my mind's lull
And its high tide,
Thought to arrange alphabets
One after another
Thought to write archaic
Dipping in ink my feather,
But then these days
Time slips away
Like water through fingers
Absolutely slippery,
Thought to write you
How the moon drenched me
From my neighbour's third floor
Coming home, with glee,
Thought to ask you
'How are you going
From your nights of hope
To depressive mornings?'
Thought to write to you
'What you have cooked?
This weekend, pasta?
Or just chicken corn soup?'
Thought to ask you
So many other things
Like what new fiction you read
Which album did you bring?
But time just slips away
As it always does
Through my fingers
So sieve like, porous.

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