That figure
Coming to my mind
Like the intervals of time
With some excuses
To cheat in the present
With the past hours.
Why to crib
For the sake of
Was it like a cupcake!
With a strawberry touch
Soft and spongy
To water the lips
With the desire of.
The cords have been trashed
That figure is blurred now
With the passage of time
Still wondering in the moonlight
If I could have a glimpse,
I would have shown the courage
Inside the foolish fellow.
It sucks just temporarily
When the figure is no more a figure
It has become a dark spot
With some darker shades
Just to ruin you from outside.
Smelling the past
Was sometimes an easy attempt
To cook and fry the present
In a crispy way
With a mint flavour
To sauté some figures
In a fresh recipe of life.
Bhavya Prabhakar
PHOTO BY PEXELS
Poet's Corner 