Idiomatic

By Palak Jain

We write to wander,

and read to reach home,

perpetually juxtaposed,

to the beginning and unbecoming,

like nestled birds,

measuring the vagueness of skies,

watching the weather,

hoping to outlast the season,

like bordered soldiers,

tying the country on orders,

waiting to wither,

hoping to outshine the armour,

like unhealed hearts,

hearing the reassurances,

wearing the wagers,

hoping to outdo the outcomes.

By Palak Jain