With many vocables,
He formed many locutions.
Ah! His fervour,
Danced above his peeper,
Like those teeny-weeny bubbles.
In the epistle,
Figures were few.
But a souvenir ,
For his sister he drew.
The words inscribed,
Were very sweet.
And those emotions,
As vibrant as
The color of the beet.
He penned,
Those adorbs jiffy.
Be it the
Tongue-in-cheek tittle-tattle,
Or those brawls,
They couldn’t settle.
Covering those boisterous times,
He put his amassed emotions,
Like a poem with rhymes.
Yet! He never
Posted the epistle,
Neither tied it
With a sisal.
Sigh! He had no siblings,
Someone who would always,
Stand as the healing.
Yet! The epistle
For his tacit sister,
That he wrote,
Floated!!!
Away from the horizon,
Like an anonymous boat.
This poem was first published in Storizen Magazine August 2018 Issue. You can read the Magazine here.
