Charismatic countenance,
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…
This post is a part of Write Over the Weekend, an initiative for Indian Bloggers by BlogAdda
The poem is shared with dverse Open Link Night
ODIzzEY 
wov what a beautiful expression…
lov it..
awe..iii…:) simple, beautiful, intense… wonderful! So many moving lines!! Simply love it!!!:)
reminds me of that adam sandler movie…50 first dates…how hard it would be to get her to relove him every day…but if he wants it bad enough he wil…glad you made it back for OpenLinkNight
yeah..like bri it reminded me of the movie as well… sometimes it wouldn’t be bad at all to start again and again..
Quite a tale you have woven here!
very well written, it reminded me of ‘Sadma’.
nice one
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I thought of “The Notebook” as I read.