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Missing You




I passed by our favorite café today morning 
the place where food was uninspiring
and the ever-smiling steward was
Intimidating while nice,
wanting us to leave
as soon as we were done
our strategy was different, however
we couldn’t leave
In a conversation vacuum

that place had an art gallery
although the art on display
was to an extent, incorrigible
and dark, kind of clumsy
or many a times, superficial
the art gallery is still there
so is the steward
the only thing missing
is you and me, talking
over the same uninspiring food
your voice was invigorating nevertheless

I used to watch you eat,
while talking continuously
those infectious voices
loom large in my clever emotive mind
the sounds of cutlery, the cafe music,
the winter afternoons, your presence
all of it certainly,
in the complete histrionics
Is what the heart transpired
in all its innuendos
all of the last month and more
Your voice in all its trajectory
leads me on
to our freaking friendly banter

In the noises of outwardly discord
your pristine vulnerabilities shine through
I miss your infectious laughter,
that flamboyant spark
which no one can claim to have
but you

there may be disarray
or disharmony of thoughts and ideals
but exclusive time
that I had spent with you
is like a movie being played
a beautiful movie
of innocence, sobriety, naivety
and serendipity with some bossa nova jazz
as our background score

missing you is another space
where even “you” does not matter
it is an empty feeling that someone feels
even after a sumptuous dinner with a decadent dessert

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