Upper case doesn't matter

There is a world

of poetry

Separate.

Usually accompanied by

brief spells of rain

or french songs

a cup of tea after

watching

the sun rise.

That world

talks most

of love

A love I don't feel

everyday, anymore.

I wonder

if it should worry me.

It doesn't.

I also wonder why.

What exactly it is

that make me

indifferent

apathetic.

Denial is

a thing of the past.

As is my naive heart

and that,

without wonder

worries me.

When you can't translate everything into poetry

A leafy arch overlooks

A tea stall tucked

Under the clouds

Stone tables

And stone benches

A pet dog sniffing

With curiosity

And an obvious grin.

Just then the clouds come in

Oblivious to surroundings.

Dragon flies against

The grey of the sky

And right there

With the sun in your eyes..

It's you.

Against the green

On a toy train, I skipped away

Curves and bends down the way.

It's a steep climb

There - you see the town in the valley

And just before that,

The train tracks you left behind

Running together.

Always together.

Reminding me of his take

On life. On love.

Right then I peep out

Of my toy train's

Toy window.

Into the sunlight.

An inch further.

Another inch further away.

And just then

His smile illuminates

The door he's standing at.

I'm a long way from home

And it's going to

Be a longer journey back.

as most cities are

Lightning demarcates

boundaries of clouds

blanketing this inky night.

It's a lonely city

as most cities are

an occasional passer-by

and a painful pull.

Transatlantic.

Who knows how much havoc

intermittent flashes of

lightning cause.

They sure light up the world

for a tiny second

here

and there.

But they're unaccompanied

by thunder.
Or rain.

Much like this city -

lone, alone.

They say everybody

grows up.

And grows hard and unforgiving.

Life then, I believe

was never a child.

And living - never child's play.

Where do you run?

As the world watched you.

Where do you hide?

Maximum text support.

Exhausted.