Can I trust you;
The phrase overworks on a moonlit night.
I look at the moon and hurriedly scoff,
Though I was worriedly lumping the cough.
The Moon flushes,
How dare you laugh at me,
I live so bright and dive at heights,
'Are We Friends', she burst into laughter;
She, fair and flushed, vibrant and vivacious,
A descendant of the Jupiter,
And a novel militant of the worst kind.
My head, tizzy, dropped into the welcoming hands,
An eerie silence followed.
The winds down the standing mountain,
Brings the chill within its brace.
It also brings with its embrace,
Shards of memories making eyes strain.
The gloom it offers is insurmountable,
Wishing the love it reminds is detachable.
Today's front page headlines on 'The Hindu' read- " Woman held for calling BJP government 'fascist'. What a delectable sight it was, a rather surprisingly spring-full welcome to an otherwise torrid rainy day. Arrest of anti-Indians gives a certain peace of mind that otherwise only the 'Computer Sambrani' can give, which I do not use nowadays because of global warming.
