Embossed on the doormat
My footprints –
Await yours;
The half sipped glass of water,
The half bloomed rose buds –
Sustain and smile,
Awaiting your touch –
Your sight
The bright sun has submerged itself,
In the beams of florescent moon
The quick hands of clock –
Drag themselves sluggishly;
A cold dinner mocks at the steel
Getting colder –
And stale
The phone still lies on the neat bed;
On the pillow beside me –
Awaiting your call
And I’m waiting
Like them all –
For your five minutes!
-Neha
18th Jan 2008
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Comments
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i wonder what made you write this... its sad yes.. but lovely !
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i wonder what made you write this... its sad yes.. but lovely !
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