Wednesday, October 10, 2012

What the paper said to me

The forecast for tomorrow is,
We propose to skip the summer season

The story of her life

From a broken cup
She sips tea
When there is none

A bit of breeze slipped through the window

Into her past

In the folds of the world map
Weeds are sprouting
Argentina covered by a crease
Serbia has a hole
Congo is de-inked
A shirt hung over the Pacific Ocean
How will he wear a wet shirt?
To school in the morning?

I seek idyll
Said the paper to me
Something profound penned by a ball point nib
In clear blue handwriting

Till such time
Four paper weights will suffice

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