Sunday, 22 November 2015

It's time to get flowers.

Weren't you the one who zoomed in on the screen,
in the mist of Shillong
and color the studio green?

The iron pieces still cling onto you,
it clings every second
as time slips away from me
like a creeping vegetable
growing in my mother's garden,
stealthily and silently.

I fear if it was you,
or the time that's slipping by,
day by day
minute by minute.

I'm still your bee,
waiting for you
your scent and your lukewarm self,
to reach me again
once more
in a place bereft of people
only you and I.

Let us swim, you and I
submerged in this river,
you in your pyjamas and your absolute self
and me with my genetic brown eyes, synthetic blue-grey glasses
and my full face.
Extinguish the greedy blaze,
my pristine thrist.

Toss away the adorable politics,
the people,
the disposable plastic glasses,
Get more flowers and herbs and heal the world.
Heal the sickness and secure our future of togetherness.

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