Whispers by Vrushab Rao
“Who is he?”
Unlike the olden days where I hide behind these hands as a mask,
I try to find out.
“Who are these collections of flesh and bones who’s curiosity I spout?”
A fascinating personality, they seek to meet,
Fascinated souls I seek to greet.
The fortnight of whispers finally comes true.
Oh curiosity of mine, where did this sudden resurgence arise?
For now, what I see is pure, unique, to surmise.
Between shooting stars from echoing cars
We had meaningful talks with words so sparse.
I had truly seen the unseen.
A new perspective on living –
Bright, beautiful, happy, hilarious, tiny, yet generously giving.
Amongst constant interruptions and belittling
I hope my happy tales of existence calmed those nerves unsettling.
It’s reality, let’s not feign.
But those moments of awkward happiness
May have kindled some light on my inebriated mess.
In hopes of another moment of childish content in variety,
Eager to reduce the remaining unspoken anxiety,
I say my thanksgivings
To something bright, beautiful, happy, hilarious, tiny, yet generously giving.
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