Monday, November 7, 2011
On a cold September morning . . . [Explored]
On a cold September morning,
She waited with bated breath,
for a glimpse of the first train,
that would bring home her only wealth.
the faintest light,
the feeblest scent,
atleast a distant horn,
She could make through another day,
with a whispered promise of dawn.
Alas the breeze would never relent,
It's icy touch grew colder,
Only her will, had never bent
But this wait was getting longer . . .
the warmth of a forgotten smile,
was since keeping her going,
the promise that she'll see it again,
Could really be her undoing . . . .
For many nights,had she sat up waiting,
Looking for a beam of light,
through the mist, in the morning,
One day he'll prove her right!
- Ishan Aranjikal
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