In the quiet desperation
Of a burdened mind
An unexpected conversation
Brings in light
A frozen platform
Of a burdened mind
An unexpected conversation
Brings in light
A frozen platform
In an obsolete station
Yields a bench
Saying “Here, have a seat”
The little bud
That remains blooming
Inevitably through
A rough, long winter time
An unadulterated shine
In the eyes Of the street child
That shatters
Glazed, apathetic looks
Of a claustrophobic crowd
Riding frantically
The harbour line
At the strike of nine
The shrill of a phone that breaks
An endlessly silent nightUttering welcome words that enquire
“Have you been well,
Are you fine?”
There is a beckoning
In all of theseA call to honour
To unveil at ease
The grace of routine living
Offerings in
