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.

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Rahul Aithal

I am from Mumbai, India. Composing poems gives me immense pleasure. Few poetic sites I write on are -,, and, recently Avant-Garde-Writer's Haven (on Facebook). You could browse my other writes on my private blog, I am glad to have joined this site, thanks to Louis. I hope to add value and get the group going.

4 thoughts on “Phoo

Leave a Reply