I again met you at my favourite
Museum before we kissed and
Went to our homes.
I reached at my place
Having a mug of my coffee in my hand
Under the Parisian sky,
I found your face up there.
I smiled.
Simultaneously, I opened my journal,
picked up my pen, and started writing
Where you picked up my broken pieces
And how I loved you as whole.
As if the story out of it
Is trying something to be told.
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Nice!
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Thanks, Harsh!
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The title of your poem always create curiosity to read yours immediately Sumit. While reading you justified that perfectly.
You’re too good in writing about little things which had that much impact in a day. This poem made me to smile and feel that scene.
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My motive for that to choose is always like that na!
Little things matter the most, after all. Nai?
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Absolutely. I agree with that little things matter the most. It would give great impact too.
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The title here is extremely catchy to drive the readers in!
I liked the idea of museum the most. Your head is full of creative ideas I bet. I found it different.
And then how you compared it to your routine life, in which you sat with your mug of coffee, journal and began writing.
As usual I loved the ending which said as if it was trying to tell a story, the way this post of yours is trying to tell the story.
Wonderful!
See you around ✨
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They’re full of creative ideas because I have people around me who make me think that way, including you.
You’re being missed here. Come soon, Rashmi.
See you around! ✨
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Great writings! Wish you the best in these unorthodox times.
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Amazing.
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Thank you for reading, Simran.
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Thank you. 🙂
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