A Day’s Toil

I tromped on clouds
Tore apart a sky
Rode the wild winds
And you ask me why
It’s another day’s toil
Oh! how much I toil!
Just to say β€” I love you

How do I unbosom myself
If not with poetry.


Most days are like this. Words are either difficult to catch like the wind or too distant like the clouds. But I like the labour that goes into poetry and love.

Grabbing minutes from busy hours, thoughts tumbling into simmering pots, the strong smell of garlic clinging onto verse – this is how my poems come together. This is how love unravels.



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