On losing my car*

When I can no longer drive
I smell the burnt winter in the air
Leaving the city with a whispered breath.

When I can no longer drive
I see how this small city is
Shape-shifting into a hollow giant.

When I can no longer drive
I hear the silence in the traffic jam
The lonely echoes of solitary cycles.

When I can no longer drive
I taste the staining purple spring
Rife with romance and possibilities.

When I can no longer drive
I remember being brave and wild, and writing,
For amusement and love, and kissing, on these streets.

*Hyperbole alert. The car is in the workshop getting fixed.
Written as a Sunflower in the BWW: Poetry (Classic). 

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About Bhumika's Boudoir

I love to laugh, and end up being a part of high drama and stormy emotion even when I don't pursue it. Being creative, and communicating with people get me going. I enjoy all the good things in life especially those that are slightly risque, and apologise little, if ever, for all that I do. Literature is a passion and so is music.
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