IMG_1930 A memory: Dropping stones in an abandoned well. (Zero Point: Sikkim, India)

It’s a sunny Saturday and I’m at the movies. I see young lovers, lost in each other
oblivious to the sea of humanity swarming by.
I feel a sense of longing, like a writer for his lost muse.
you are the poetry I want to etch on my skin,
the words I have waited for six months to write,
the rhyme I want to feel with shallow breaths and soft sighs 

There are days when your very thought makes me smile.
Moments when the mind takes off in its flights of fancy
I peek from behind heavy lashes
and see a world where
my head finds the perfect spot on your shoulder
Your hands hold me in a warm embrace
or I hear reverberations from fleeting seconds as your eyes giggle with joy 

Then there are some where I try
not to think about you…
But you’re there, lingering on the fringes of my most private thoughts.
My mind whispers your name
like the small tinkle
when fingertips tap against fine crystal…
It’s a struggle, an exercise of fools, yet here I am, hoping
for the frantic mumbling to stop
The skies darken and thick raindrops pelt the night.
I close my eyes and you will become a dream,
the kind I hope one day gets chased to reality…


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