268 Kilometers

I have seen you
evolve in the corners
of my mind,
held you in my arms
as you slowly grew and then grew again.

I have poured myself
a glass
every time
a spec of your detail changed.

I have moulded and shifted
in my bed,
crouched in my seat,
held my neck closer to the speaker
of my phone
every time
a feather turned over.

I have seen you
move from
a brooding male,
thinking himself irresistible
to the opposite sex,
to a child shivering in
his mother’s warm embrace
at 4 in the morning,
to a father who holds my hand
until I fall asleep.

And every damn time,
I pour myself a drink,
thinking, perhaps,
your dreamy phases
are a thread of my drunken reality,
perhaps, my dreaming reality,
or perhaps, nothing at all.
Nothing more than
soot, dust, cement, half-dead trees,
sunrise and sunsets,
the colour orange and green,
and everything in between
268 kilometres.

-Taru Gupta


For once, I did not write poetry out of my own misery. My muse keeps shocking me with self-discovery. First, I write him a poem on jealousy and now I wrote him a semi-sad, appreciation poem. I won’t call it a love poem, but perhaps an admiration piece? Who knows? This one for the person who is separated by 268 km, but united by everything else.

Thank you for reading. Please like, share, subscribe and follow my blog for more poetry.

Love,
Taru.

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