May 15, 2024. When She called
Love is,
What you regret later
Forever, and ever, (and ever)
Love is,
a hurtful endeavor,
Hard to savor.
Love is,
when the odds are,
Not in your favor.
Love is,
What you do,
When the "wise people" say, don’t.
Gale Dreams About Flying Whale
It is just another mundane monday at the University. I am inside room no. 206. Sitting on the benche beside Sharif. Leaning my head on the table. Half asleep and half awake. Taking in and forgetting whatever History lesson Harun sir is spitting out. I am gonna regret this. But I cannot help feeling droopy because of the morning shift routine. With hazy vision I am looking at the whiteboard, which is now projecting a poem of T S Elliot. T S Elliot, T S Elliot, I repeated to myself. I have to Remember this. What period is sir currently on? Industrialism? Which year was that? 18th? I have to turn some pages. But the book is in my backpack and I am too tired to get it out. I told to myself, whatever. I looked at the whiteboard and saw, sir already moved to another Poet. I sighed and rest my head on the table again. I surrender to the fate. Que sera sera. With furtive eyes, I looked at Her. The almost mythical, almost goddess, Her. She was also not focusing on sir's l...
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