An angel stopped at my door step
Give me a little of your tomorrow
without cabs with neon lights honking
without screens with virtual windows blinking
Write me down in pieces
of incandescent metaphors
How do I dress her up in words?
She has found a home in some lazy moment
or maybe, is still scouting for one,
in pieces of yesterdays & tomorrows.
There are always so many.
She flows along turbulently
wearing reflections of the sky.
The sky does not understand;
she does not explain.
She flows down truculently
with banks on either side, dawn & twilight.
The banks-
are they wings
or are they anchors?
Naive, she forgives mirages
for being abhorrent & arrogant;
but follow them, she does.
There is so much to her
& just too little that one can know.
How do I make her up
& let her out of herself?
An innocent angel
still waits at my doorstep;
or is she a conniving witch?
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