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….
No comments:
Post a Comment