A wistful, ruminative poem about the seasons and the human cravings that define them.
For years now
I’ve been living off borrowed seasons
Stealing spring from a friend’s heart
(My craving for blossoms is cureless);
Snatching fresh slices of summer
from sun-soaked grins of random strangers
(they’ve lit up my hours of gloom..)
And when the heat has driven me mad
a wisp of winter from my neighbor’s sneer
has been enough to cool me off.
Yet for years now..
there hasn’t been
a dearth of monsoon..
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