Sunday, 11 April 2021

Indira you’re going to be here tomorrow

Wondering if it was still worth,

those coffees and bridges over rain 

Breathless moons, silly limericks 


Sudden urge to hold on and not

to ever let go of he, who 

melted all too soon into the crowd 


But what of those afternoons

that linger as fragrant dried roses

somewhere in his everyday words


You will still be tomorrow, Indira 

here to count moles on his beloved

half-forgotten face


(As posted to a Facebook poetry group Singpowrimo)

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