Reminiscence.

Reminiscing, I sit under

that old peepal tree 

down the street,

where you and I once sat,

hand in hand.

 

The shadow there

reminds me of love,

love that faded

like a mist,

and cooled us down.

 

The birds above 

fly away with beauty,

espying the loners,

yet flies away anyway,

just like you did yesterday.

 

Does it still play in your head,

or have you turned it down?

The sound of words,

fussy words,

that I used to whisper.

 

Yes, life's going well.

For the survivors,

wind has never stopped 

after a tornado,

yet what it takes away, always hurts.