The Wait
In a hundred days, it has seen me,
A thousand times, by the old tree,
A tomb, atleast for me, that still sings,
The old tales, I sit on the worn out bench,
Below the wornout street lamp, as if,
The world moved on but it remained stiff.
Quite silly of me to wait, but I can't resist,
As the night falls, the thoughts still persist,
But with time I see the lights flicker and shut,
With it, I take leave of the place but,
The thoughts still persist and they call,
"When we meet again, this promise you will recall."
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