A
place surrounded by empty stairs,
Filled
with drops of reminiscence,
Just
like that shimmering nose pin on her face.
I felt
a sharp pain
Whenever
I sensed her touch,
Her
glance… her curves.
The
fragments of her voice
Floating
on the turquoise surface of water,
Making
me yearned for her,
While
she is too far to return.
The
comfort
I
found around this oasis,
She
might have instilled herself.
Perhaps
she already knew conspiracy of
Our fate, the dice game of death.
The place echoed with her glimpses, I often visit.
- Ankita Chauhan