miss B

Well, I actually began this to be something else which I wouldn’t reveal at this point of time (mainly because there’s no real suspense as such) but then again, I just went where my drowsiness took me, and it was almost 2 am and ‘Back to You’ and stuff.

Calories to cook this up,

a night of her to burn it all;

wonder where the hell she is,

the morning finds her

good and gone

and you wanted me

to show my hand,

to twist it up, to sniff her out;

breaking down a pot of plant

to find the seed,

to shine your sun

Well, what if she’s too good for that,

what if there’s no candle-stain?

What if she’s not fussed enough

to prove her mettle, write her name?

Call the thief

and catch her too,

frame the suspect from the start;

call her cheeky,

call her brutal,

call her rude, but you know what?

You never had a shred of her,

you’d never find you never did;

a window at a solid turn,

its glasses painted, the world unlit

and looking out on towns so strange,

fast, polluted, river-made;

you bind the cord that ties your tongue,

doing things you’ve never done…

Yet, you try to work this out,

you gave a duck, she made an owl;

sitting with a point to prove,

to harness every hearty hoot.

I don’t know if this is a ‘Little Rhyme’. Perhaps it’s a little more substantial at a personal level than one, having been honest to this sleepy digression of mine. Long time, you know. And I don’t know if it was a ‘wait’ to think if this was worth it. To ‘YOU’, almost obviously.