infrequent
flickers
a lonely firefly
brings hundreds
firing flickering fireflies
those simmering summer evenings
in a distant land
a distant memory
alive like the previous
spark of
this lonely firefly
her lips
in passing
in the subway
lips
that I will never kiss
the first lips
so many loves ago
hers,
still alive
as if she just turned the corner
in a place as yet unsullied by time
subway doors
closing
lips untouched
the weary tired
bones
the rain crashing into the window
breaking into little pearls
the green fields
drenched
in rain
running after the ball
for another goal
another pass
giving
receiving
in passing
this poem is like crying your sadness. i don't think the tears we cry are in vain.. no, they are not in vain.it's all i can say
ReplyDeleteunder the sky and under the stars someone likes your poems and reads and re-reads them..