By-Prongs
The radio plays nostalgia
As I sit in the toasty yellow cab
Standing on the inky wet road
Fresh from the last shower of Monsoon
Somewhat out of place in October
Like the tears I beckon
In eyes that are now empty
All cried out
As I peer out of the window
And stare at our spot on Princep Ghat
And recall a vision of two innocent bright eyed teenagers
Dancing in the Autumn breeze
Much like the wind-catcher dancing on that distant rooftop in my view
As though it has stolen all it’s gaiety from us.
I roll the glass pane down as the cab driver laments having to clean out the leaves from his car later on
Due to my carelessness
And I whisper a question to the wind-catcher
Hoping the gale in my heart will carry it there
“Will you ever give me back those moments of pure bliss?”
A leaf flies in, as if in reply
I pick it up, examine it, and place it among the leaves of my notebook
Press it between the pages
Of my life
Like the rose in my diary from half a decade ago
For it contains myriad shades of orange, yellow, and brown
Signifying the end of our Summer together
The radio plays nostalgia
As I wonder
How do you manage to answer all my questions from Beyond?
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This poem has been published in the book 'The Last Flower Of Spring'. Buy the paperback copy on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/y9sydnxn