Empty cup lies on the window sill,
crumpled sheets cry every night,
and the well-thumbed books remain dust filled.
Emotions flare and your absence I can’t bear-
But the despairs fall on deaf ears.
In wait, trudges the long night
when Phoo, my old maid, disappears.
So nice.Enjoyed each word.
Thanks Fathima. I’m glad.
Intriguing ,mysterious , Rahul’s concise poetic form encapsulates the story outlines of magic-realist novels.
Thanks so much Louis. It’s a delight to read your comments.
I salute you.