By Trisha Bhatnagar
Our story began quite early,
Happens to be a playground actually,
Unknowingly so, it became the daily.
That path is where it should start.
That path that sets the gorgeous trees,
Across the setting sun,
Amongst the noise of that cut throat wind,
It was as if that supper walk was a peculiar art.
But only if we stumbled upon a hard time,
A ‘ Choco Lava Cookie ’ at the local bakery,
Was all that really made this rhyme.
A separation of self and the world you said.
Conscious and the sub-conscious,
Back then, I wouldn’t believe you,
Weirdly so, aging is still exactly what you said.
Our magic booth of experiencing this life at hand,
Navigating our own sense of comfort in whoever we say we are ,
But you strayed from home so it all turned to sand.
No more of evening banter,
Where she stands feeling like he’s the sun to her thunder,
No more annual festivities,
Didn’t come to realise how we kept growing fonder.
Fonder of each other,
So on a rainy day,
I remember that “happiness looks gorgeous on me”,
Because of one another.
Reminiscing— humankind’s inherent drug,
Only now it’s also drugs,
To me you’re still pulling out my headphones,
We’re both still awkward over a hug.
Years have passed,
I’m on the run,
I’m in the rain,
Growing into this world,
Yet, our ‘ Bit of Everything ’ was very fun.