Seeks to wipe out everything
From memory—both joy and pain.
And yet, I see you through the mist
Sitting in the dark; drenched
Under that Gulmohar tree
On that lonesome bench.
What makes you wait there love
In the cold; a figure lone
What makes me look for you there
In the dark; cold, tired, alone.
Love pushes me
To put my arms around you
Bring you home.
But I stand at the culvert watching you.
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