Monday, December 22, 2014

Before Sunrise

Coldest night of the year, the city shivers
Even the streetlights refuse to show their face
Seems they are on a strike demanding less working hour and more wage
I trace the hurried footsteps of dying light to reach her address












There she is, sitting by the window, reading this poem
As I approach she smiles
May be I smiled, cannot remember though
Who knows it really happened or I just imagined it too

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