Day 3

(Write a poem that tells a story)

It was a perfect day,
watching Kathmandu getting soaked in the rain
the wet empty alleys
and packed warm momo pasal.
A cup of tea in one hand,
and his hand in another,
nothing could be perfect.
But then came the storm,
for the first time in many years,
the pole crashed right in front of her eyes,
the tin-roof of next door neighbour flew away
and so did her vases in the terrace.
She got scared,
her eyes frowning with worry,
her heart started beating loudly and faster,
but he calmed her down
singing her favourite lullaby,
humming the tune
and then the cup broke
spilling the tea in her hands,
burning each skin cell that touched it
waking her up.
His side of the bed was empty,
he hadn’t come home yet,
three nights in a row.
Nothing was perfect.


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