My Sundays are lost
Like other Working days
And still
I have a soft corner
For you,My Love
My days with books
And apart…….
Are those
Wherein
I see nothing,
Nothing beyond you & …………..
Still Sunday comes
It will come sure
But I don’t know
If the sensation will sneak
Into me the same way again
As something is changing
Incessantly in me
With careless control.
Yet, it’s not mine
This is the wind
Across the mighty wind
Blowing in all directions.
