On a searing, parched summer afternoon,
Sheltered in my home,lazying around i
lie stretched on the turf covered with
a walnut wooden layer..
Bright, bloodshot sun rays sieve through
the roman blinds,the air conditioner
bellows gusts of cool air,nostalgia is
Your swathed memories, omnipresent,
assertive, reluctant to leave..
Maybe once i am asleep;this wave of
thoughts would cede..
Closing my eyes tight, usurping the
bed sheet to hide, i try try try..
Sleep seems perfidious, your thoughts
just do not disappear, tears roll on,
and i cry cry cry.