It’s wintry and sunlit.

Maybe there will be other times to worry

This isn’t it.

The couch seemed lonely without you

And so did your books

As you flitted from task to task

Without time for even a wistful look

Outside the window.

Your days were filled with hasty lines

At the coffee machine, and slammed doors

You longed for empty afternoons when you sat near the window on the tenth floor

And daydreamed.

You longed for days when you’d think of mountains and

Your eyes would mist over-

Maybe some days when you’d write about the mountains

Like old lovers.

Days when you’d write about the pretty rays of sunshine

And not shield your eyes against them.

Days when you’d feel the spines

Of old books, and think about every chapter.

Now you’re here.

Every moment seems like a crucial one

Like scenes in slow motion.

Laziness takes over you, wave by wave

Like the gentle, slumbering ocean.

That finger you used as a trusty bookmark

Slipped out;

And you’re fast asleep.

After all, books can’t ask for promises to keep.

Artwork by Avissruti Bannerji


Written by Vasudha Rajkumar


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