by Hitharthi Vala
When the morning light beads There will be hums of not birds, but him to wake you
And when the noon
will try to ambush your day
He will send you artists to talk to and jazz to tap your feet to.
And when the late evening knocks at your closed door There will be unplanned dances on uneventful songs with toes on toes and waist reaching hands.
There will be kisses on the neck
and murmuring in ears
that will go two beats off
from the song on the radio.
But there will be radio that you’d forgotten, guitars that would strum.
And in a beat or two You’d strum them too and maybe, the song in the background would be penned by him for you.
— — — — — — -
About the Author
Hitharthi Vala is interested in even trivial trivia and music. She loves reading and has a tendency to take her time while reaching any place.