A Lonely Crow

 A lonely crow and its gnawing caw

Dripping everywhere -

Like an amnesiac guitar player

Groping for the chord.

If my eyes be true,

The crow dates back to a decade ago -

A room at terrace and a torrential storm,

A dying afternoon in October-end,

Multani mist, stretching afar

An intime door, kept ajar,

A tune and a mind that coalesced to fit,

You ruptured, bled anew, innit?

What was that? A teenage lust?

I miss your voice,

I miss your first.

30 October, 2022

(Photo collected)