There is a softness in the air
a drowsy languidness
that asks for warmth and comfort
and a bowl of hot soup
nostalgia melts like butter
deliciously tempting
the scent rises
and masks any tinge of regret
as the wind caresses
and plays with my hair
it is as if time has slowed
and twisted itself
into a sleeping
figure of eight

- Vijayalakshmi Harish
   01.10.2012

Copyright © Vijayalakshmi Harish