Wednesday, February 10, 2010

The beginning of the saga

His smoking hot whisky eyes

That was the first thing she had noticed and the quick grin of course

The rain was pouring down in sheets and she thought,

‘What a quirk of fate, I seem to meet my destiny every time it rains!’

Her car had stalled – something or the other had given up its life

She was sitting all alone – feeling the loneliness coming off in waves

She heard a quick tap

And fate she smiled her wicked grin

Irene rolled down the window pane

40 years blurred in her gaze

Looking into Iyer’s eyes

And his story well now that makes a separate rhyme….

Iyer and Irene

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