The song of cuckoo is to blame of this remembrance of you, I think.

The call reminds me the warmth that lays hidden in your bosom,

The call reminds how tightly you used to hold my tall stature–

placing your ear on my heart…melancholy is engulfing me…

The song of cuckoo is to blame of this remembrance of yours…

 

 

The gapped traffic with interim cars and buses passing–

one car gone another just whoosh out,

An old bus screeches followed by another whoosh–

Reminds me of the kisses that you used to spread–

All over me…one on lips, then on neck…twitching my nose with yours…

Period…this not a poem on love making…

The gapped traffic with interim cars and buses passing–

Is to blame of this remembrance of yours…

 

 

My friend, you might think this as another sad love poem from me

But, no, you’re wrong…I’ve tried to write a different type of love poem…

I’ve written the poem to capture the serenity and tranquility —

That morning, an early Spring one, capture, treasure…

Though, I don’t know which cause so much melancholia, so much desolation–

The song of cuckoo, or, the infrequency of passing vehicles…

Though, I don’t know what cause so much melancholia, so much desolation–

The purity of the early morn sun, or, some distant memory that had haunt me–

At that while, which, I didn’t remember right now at the moment…

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3 thoughts on “Another Untitled Poem/Poetry

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