poetry

Us

You sit in Delhi

and you say it’s hot

I, in Mumbai

cant figure out if it’s monsoons

Or what has become of it now,

You send pictures of every

desolate building you see

And I send you just myself

Same isn’t it?

Old broken

Letting green and wildflowers grow

Come over you say

Soon, I blurt out as usual

False promises

Or just delayed?

Take me to Lahore, I beg

Next December you say.

Promises,

of an uncertain future

Would you kiss me if we met? You ask

Certainly, I say

More promises

How’d it be you wonder

And I think to self

It will be like being inside God’s mind

I don’t say it loud though

And we drift to

You are in Delhi and it’s hot

I, in Mumbai wondering

What the hell is happening

with the weather.

2 thoughts on “Us”

    1. Senses feel the pain in each and every word,
      The pleasure they feel about your smile which is out of this world,
      The radiant smile which can melt ice,
      Envelopes all your disappointments like your expressive eyes,
      Shukriya for giving a like Highness,
      I will be waiting for the next beautiful poem with eagerness.

      Like

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