[Setting sun of the Spring eve had been penetrating through a gap amongst the curtain of my office and falling on my desk and spreading on head. I put up my hand in the light and wrote the poem…]
The sprinkle of dust get prominent
In setting sun light of the spring eve.
I’ve no time to be pensive, to ruminate.
But, still, I stop w’ever I was doing at desk
And let the sprinkle play on my tender palm.
“Don’t look at your palm like this way, you’re not alone
See, here’s my hand and now I put it on you…look, you’re not lone…”
A voice echo from the land of the time where the sunlight shining like this
Where two souls still playing, still kissing, still enveloping each other
As the setting sun of some random season shine on them…
Dedicated to Her
# W’ever is my shorthand for Whatever