Summer

I know you won’t think of me now.
When the sun scoops vanilla clouds
And there are new friends
Planning exciting summer picnics
And dances mid summer nights.
When you can share your dreams
With colourful people who enjoy
Without intent, without intensity.
No.
You won’t think about me.
You are a summer child
And I am the dreary crone
Of relentless, lonely monsoons.
I am the trees dripping rain
Drunk, somnabulent in green.
I am the monsoon winds
Whipping grey and cold
Boringly intent.
Boorishly intense.
Pursuing.
Truth.
You.
Can.
Do.
Without.
Within.
No.
You won’t think of me now.

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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.
This entry was posted in Blue Funk, Idle Thoughts, Intoxication Induced. Bookmark the permalink.

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