With the impatience of his generation
he abandoned his fountain pen.
He chose instead a sip of first flush Darjeeling
because of a butterfly that fluttered past.
Under his pillow, the butterfly kept
some kernels of musk to seep
into his dreams, till warm sunlight
tickled his eyelids awake.
They flocked to the sea one day but
the clouds were debating a storm.
The butterfly laughed at the thunder while
he watched in astonished silence.
5 comments:
Nice, very nice.
That's really pretty! Thanks for putting it online.
Thanks, boys. :)
Tumne likha?
Nice.
TS,
Yes, poetry is not my forte but I do occasionally break into verse. :) Thanks.
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