November rain! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Cast a glance at the heap of crumpled wet face tissues.
No, no I had not finally succumbed to swine flu.
At last, gave myself permission to have a good cry.
But when the sobs died and eyes were swollen and dry,
Suddenly there was an unseasonal November rain.
Nature made its presence felt through the windowpane.
Just as dead leaves fall in autumn from the tree.
I had let go off my past to make way for spring.
One came aboard the breeze to land at my cold feet.
I picked it up and pressed it in newspaper sheets.
It symbolised my past, which though buried still lived.
One day I’ll be able to look at it without twinge.
Why beat myself with a stick, have paid my dues.
The fog had lifted and the sky was clear blue.
Not to blame it on flawed human state or ask why.
Have embarked on a journey to find who am I…
poem by Mamta Agarwal
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
No comments until now.