Summer evenings, winter nights,
And monsoon mornings gone,
Meeting, returning, and then departing,
Tomorrows dead before they’re born
Final days in an unreal place
That for so long had been home
For so long had been the light
Melting shadows of being alone
Footsteps finally tumbling down
Old, stained, rickety stairs
Footfalls treading yet again
Over velvet-like despairs
Empty eyes looking out on
Dark and empty streets
Counting types of bleeding hearts
When two wrong people meet
Tarnished hopes and rusty dreams
And hope that would stay a slave
In the empire of empty promises
Love’s loyal soldiers made
She clenched her fist imagining
That she still held his hand
She bit her lip and gasped for breath
Willing her heart to understand
She waited up until dawn
Remembering their first sunrise
But only recalled that when he’d walked out the door
She’d seen midnight in his eyes
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This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet...
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I watched ‘Rang de basanti’. That, however, is not the point. Everyone now wants to go to Delhi and cruise around in jeeps at night. And tha...
2 comments:
midnights are beautiful btw. they herald a new day. :)
Beautiful, I don't wanna say anything else I guess.
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