Updated: Sep 21
You see the window,
the rain seems so fine.
She said, “Dear me! I got the umbrella, right?”
Giggled and I told her the weather had lied,
the mischief I played took her by surprise.
You see the window, it looks real, right? ,
a nod in response, and I told her it’s inspired by my confines.
Bizarre the expression,
the artwork brought to light.
Closer she stepped,
her bright face demised.
The window wasn’t real.
She fixated her eyes,
she praised me and bid me goodbye.
Hurry was such, she returned to pick up her big mobile,
I asked her, what was that new style?.
She said, “It’s a tablet,
in fashion since month five”.
In pain, I told her, six months ago was my last visit,
Guilty, she asked me, “Was I alright?” ,
laughable, she needed a response?.
Her eyes had a wondrous sight, but somehow,
she didn’t see my condition at that time.
It said “The End” after the line and I realised,
the gift given by her was a poem about my behaviour from that time.
The poem I read was of that old friend,
who now lay in her garden’s flower beds.