Perfectly imperfect

The screeching sound of the rusting door, Is the old enviable memories. Yet I see the opening door. Getting squeezed in a thronged train And losing my ring, I am stumbling to look down and search for it Neither to blame someone. Where I’m obligated to get down perplexed. The few seconds of rain bedeweding…

A Broken glass

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The bun in my oven..

Snuggling on the floor with remote, I changed the channel benumbed ..anticipating his arrival from office. Ting Tong !! the bell hollered.. Hupp…! placing my mitt abruptly on my stomach I soothed it. Yes, the squalling sound might have commoved a peaceful sleep.I faltered to get up placing my paw on the floor..Ufffooo.. taking a…

The kite..

Her eensy-weensy fingers folded the paper into a triangle, but she adverted it as a kite. Yes, imperfections are endearing especially when it’s is done by tikes. “Boooom….” a sound blared. Squinting her eyes, she sat down abruptly by closing her ears. “Hahaha.. it’s just a cracker” , I japed taking her into my arms….


❤ The rustling leaves bestowed lulu to the breezy evening.. My hair danced to and fro by heeding to the unuttered stories of zephyr.. Cuckoo..Cuckoo.. she sang concealing inside a bombastic tree.. The deciduous leaves are drifting to unknown places  and new leaves are supplanting them slowly..The clouds suddenly turned grey and played by hitting…