Hey there Susannah,
Do you remember?
That time, you coloured my chair,
For the sake of your burgundy hair?
All those tea times,
All those late nights,
IB Psych messing with our minds.
Pans full of tea, high on coffee.
Aloevera on our dark circles,
Almond hair oil, cucumber-mustard face-masks.
Dorm-made remedies and our crazy beauty routines.
Do you remember?
Adventure walks down Sunday market roads.
Muddly sandles, fresh scent of cheap vegetables.
Dodging annoying motorbikes. One-way road,narrow lane, yikes.
Hot, humid air, sweaty bodies, suffocatingly slow crowds.
How much? Can I get it for ten rupees?
My translator.
Home-cooked meals. Nameless dishes.
Browsing cafes. Scavenger hunts for new places.
Ordering little bit of everything till we can't eat no more.
Combos, combos, finish menus one and two. Aby's, Aby's.
What's left? Nothing. Start again.
My foodie partner.
Countless bitch fights.
College, career, our circumstances.
We never ran out of topics.
Sharks. Bitches. Loners. Us.
Made of a completely different substance.
Superheroes. Just Hold On. Our song.
Not my wife, not my girlfriend.
My friend.
Don't know how it began.
Don't care.
But if you want someone to listen.
I'm here.
YOU ARE READING
Strands of Time
PoetryA collection of feelings, hurts, experiences and lessons learnt, felt and lived. A road woven in time for 9 years and continuing. Information for Readers: You'll notice in the titles, the poems run from "Class 7 to Class 15", I started writing from...
