parkbench.jpg 

It deliberately climbed on me.
A delicate fragrance.

Hidden under the soft layers,
by the moist half-open darkness
of leaves,far away from the loud
world outside,it stirred in its sleep.

I found it near the lonely bench
in the park,when my feet broke
off a twig, lost in your thoughts
It fell like a whisper on my thirsty
lips, trembled in the cold breeze.

I sat there, burdened under its journey
-the deserted lanes it wandered through,
those brightly lit windows it crossed,
to reach me tired, its slender body
shimmering in fresh beads of sweat.

But,I am helpless. Like that fragile curtain of eyelids,
when the sunrise forces itself through them

I don’t know how to celebrate my poem for you
when you are a dot in a space where no one lives.

“The branches are bare, the sky tonight a milky violet. It is not quiet here,but it is peaceful. There is no one about. The birds are still. Both of us, the bench and I, lost in the silence”. {Felt like leaving this note after viewing a few images of a lonely bench park as captured by Patrix

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