ABSTRACTION
I sit alone with the memory of love
and rain falling outside,
it could be an abstraction of something deeper
something that Camus might have written
reflections along the fences of memory
and suffering
on a page
on a word
on a face,
But that too is nothing, there’s just this silence
with a long line still unwritten
but thoughts try to find their moorings
without tears,
seconds passing
to more rain
to hot coffee.
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