
Rides in the auto are never complete without a touch of warmth. In the backseat of a rickety old Bajaj three-wheeler, summer’s voice was like a baby’s as she tried to melt the icicles inside. Rationality grappled with doubts, dreams slept with anger but summer opened the curtains to expose the morning.
Summer has a big heart. Summer is beautiful. She shares her dreams with me and together we walk through lush green meadows. Sometimes I get angry on the fickleness of the seasons. She leaves her slippers at my door and disappears for days. I long for her and I wait for her. The minutes tick by and the hours pummel my patience. But still, summer doesn’t come back. I love summer. The stickiness, the beautiful sunsets, the nostalgic evening breezes, the lazy idleness, the sadness, the madness. Summer means love. Summer means longing. Summer means persistence. Wait, my phone is ringing. Must be Summer! Will be back!!!
3 comments:
Is this me? Why am I summer?
Me
Seasons do not last forever...but there is a catch...they repeat themselves...enjoy.....
That was absolutely beautiful...I almost longed for the Delhi summer, forgetting how much I personally loathe it!
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