The drizzle was so mild,
that I could feel the breeze,
As I stood in the balcony,
with arms leaning on the railing.
My face,
was spattered by the rain drops.
Though, there was no moon,
it was a beautiful night.
A perfect night,
for the nostalgia to set in,
for the memories of the past to engulf me,
some true and some fancied.
A perfect ethereal aura,
for the dreams of tomorrow,
naive, esoteric dreams,
that were far fetched if not impossible.
It was also a beautiful night,
enough to forget about the memories and the dreams,
and to just enjoy the breeze,
and the raindrops kissing my face.
It's widely sermonised these days,
to stay in the present,
Not to dwell in the past,
and fret about the future.
But on nights like these, I often wonder,
as to what would a poet do,
if there was no yesterday,
and no tomorrow.
Aug 29, 2018
Aug 29, 2018 at 12:49 PM UTC
The drizzle was so mild,
that I could feel the breeze,
As I stood in the balcony,
with arms leaning on the railing.
My face,
was spattered by the rain drops.
Though, there was no moon,
it was a beautiful night.
A perfect night,
for the nostalgia to set in,
for the memories of the past to engulf me,
some true and some fancied.
A perfect ethereal aura,
for the dreams of tomorrow,
naive, esoteric dreams,
that were far fetched if not impossible.
It was also a beautiful night,
enough to forget about the memories and the dreams,
and to just enjoy the breeze,
and the raindrops kissing my face.
It's widely sermonised these days,
to stay in the present,
Not to dwell in the past,
and fret about the future.
But on nights like these, I often wonder,
as to what would a poet do,
if there was no yesterday,
and no tomorrow.