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And now there is a desk for me

The Piano keys, the earnest voice, the guitar strums
On memories of first discoveries
Of cold nights and warm heaters,
Of fish n’ chips and empty tubes
Quite buses and lonely streets.

Of getting lost in the maze of beautiful houses
With thick carpets, trimmed gardens and sexy cars,
Of artists and singers
Singing and painting in silent street corners,
Of waiting to find myself.
Of high towers and row houses,
Cold glances and warm hands,
Piercing eyes
Running down my spine.

There is a desk for me,
People with kind eyes,
Who share their half meals.
Their homes are small, devoid of carpets.
The streets are noisy,
With no place to walk

But, there is no time to lose myself,
there is no way to lose myself,
And I always, always find
I am with myself.


  1. Though the poet says that she has no time to lose, but she seems lost in space. A nice shdow image coming up while reading.

  2. maybe if the poet stays a poetess
    she would not feel the loss of identity

  3. Hahaha Achuthan!! So expected of you!
    Mr Sarcastic, lost man, that you yourself are!! :P


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