Something

By Ishita Singhal

It was the summertime in an old city,

a young girl with a tint of mahogany,

was sitting on her bedside with pen and copy,

dreary and weary from the thoughts of the future.

The girl with the chapped lips was getting hungry.

Splashes of warm wind were surrounded the room’s corner,

every deep thought was baseless around her neck of wisdom,

every button of her shirt and every nail on her fingers were equally barren.

It was the dreary, weary weather that was making her restless.

there was a bestseller which she keeps on reading,

It talks about a simple boy being a wallflower to his needy.

She confided in the character and gulps every aspect.

It was a warm sunny day which was making her drenched.

By Ishita Singhal