she stirred her sack of memoirs, throbbed her veins
hammered,bored but all in vain…
Oh! She pondered .. He was that stranger with the roses
Who use to bow down to her, on the stairs of a public library,
and again a black curtain drops off,Self disdain…
Struggle restarts to whip the gray matter
Churned a lot , a lot re thought..
Never she gabbled with him, yet waylaid for Roses,
de perfecto routine within clocked hours…
Aah!! away it fades,again she was in a typical maze
but what happened to the stranger?she could not remember,
creeped in the same grief,into vapours her belief….
Asudden the doorbell rings,
The stranger with the roses, pings…
He smiled the way, he smiled the first day
hugged her ,kissed her …Red Roses for you,My dear…
No traces of flashback,
impervious was the redemption from oblivion ,
Who are you ?She asked quizzically..
He said “I am your husband ” not a stranger anymore..
Rehashing this line was his daily chores
He is a stranger for her from the moment
her head collided , her memory bleached…
The poem is shared with dverse Open Link Night