Then came the Thunder,
And chucked me off my reverie.
I kept on talking to droplets,
So unwilling to welcome the Fall...
So unwilling to let go of Monsoon.
"Go back now" the Storm commaded
And sounded more than nightmarish.
I kept on listening to water lilies,
So unwilling to go back to no-home...
So unwilling to be away from my latibule.
- Let's go home! I heard a voice
And felt the touch of wet and warm hands
On my shoulders.... I saw her then.
Where? I asked. I don't wanna 'go back'.
- Going back? Nope. We're going home.
See, there's a storm coming.
Let's go home.
Though 'home' sounded unfamiliar,
Her tone was so matter-of-fact
As if she knew exactly where it was.
I know now, for the matter of fact,
All about that was what
Home indeed is.
YOU ARE READING
Remainders
PoetryA collection of poetry about the leftovers of human feelings. _____________________________________________ ** No part of this book should be copied or published anywhere else.** © Ipsita Mitra Pupu _____________________________________________ ✷All...
