The squeaking that bled ears
Yet that memorable days of childhood
A privilege it was, in young eyes
To be called upon to erase the board
The chalk marks that tell stories
The forgotten tales that once ruled the place
A memory that replays
A forgotten history

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Head pounding
Exhausted mentally and emotionally
Waiting for a long vacation

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An old sweater

The green and yellow hues peak from the corner of the wardrobe
Ready to be worn again
Its woolen threads peeking out
It holds the scent of dear ones
Long forgotten yet a close friend

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A cup of tea left untouched

In the darkest of night
While the whole world slept
A hum was heard
Brewing a cup of hot tea
A sharp pain over the left shoulder
To calm that jitters
A thud -
As the tea spilled over
Silence followed

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Aromas wafted through the breeze,
Gently carrying the flavor of spices
Pots clanking, spoons stirring,
The chopping of vegetables and the meat
Into a fine delicacy to be savoured
A chef's masterpiece
Coming alive

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Under his fierce gaze
Her heart trembled
The fire in his eyes
A tear slipped
She didn't know what went wrong
Didn't know if it was her fault
But his anger
Terrified her

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Your presence made a difference
Your absence left a void so deep
Unable to fill, unable to replace

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An emotion for the cricket fans
A prime number with a mysterious aura
With seven days a week
Seventh being a relaxation day
The hues of rainbow cries the number seven
The world basks within the seven continents and wonders
A simple yet powerful number
An echo of a magical realm

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Every day when the bell rang, her heart skiped a beat,
Waiting for that one person, his scent, his footsteps
He'd wink at her blushed face, a soft smile playing, both remembering a promise made long back

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I feel like I am in another world when
The pages from a novel catches my eye
The intrigue, the mystique that surrounds it
The draw and pause, the high and low
Capturing a sense of uncertainty, a doubt
A scenario played out
A scene enacted
A fantasy yet so real

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