By Harmehma Kaur Bagga
The tender chimes of the wind sifting through the feeble leaves remind me of your tender caress,
Adoring you from afar is such a murderous chore I must indeed confess.
Hitherto, I felt I could fly, presumed I could touch the empyrean sky,
Still your mild but seasoned aphorisms got to my wretched heart - oh my!
The empathising trees, the wispy grass, the inebriating chirping of the Seven Sisters
The clementine cooing of the morning birds, the rays of the sun caressing my subdued skin - all remind me of the resister
Of love and all the fortuitousness it brings
Retort to me, worshipped - could we wallow in but a harmless fling?
By Harmehma Kaur Bagga
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