By Abhinav Panwar
In a world with Plato’s tales and red threads abound,
I rejoice in my tranquil well, safe and sound;
Dancing to my own tune, I declared no one gets,
For there’s no win or loss, if no one bets.
At the stroke of noon, a solitary ray,
Made way to the bottom, I didn’t have a say.
Basking in the warmth of an “unwelcome” kin,
First love for the win, they chanted, this love for the win!
But how much longer could it be my guest,
In this dark abyss, despite its best?
And slowly, not steadily, the dark descends,
In the familiar frigid warmth, it gradually tries and mends.
With its sturdier build, more crevices filled,
I find my solace in the walls this chilled.
And dance to my tune, with the lid shut tight,
Aware yet unaware of an oddly familiar fight.
Yet again it comes, something unseen,
A wafting staleness, I didn’t know there had been;
The gust of autumn, nudging me to scale the walls hiking,
Might be one of the things you do, when you’re “in liking”.