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Thunder,
if that is one big word
I want you to gulp it down.
My walls speaks of you
of a memory we shared
over the sweet sunrise from the balcony
Your percolating memories stir my throat
to think of our blue wise words.
I was always a pebble
a sweet, piquant attachment
from your dreams, father
a moist lost string of a pullover
that you always wanted to cherish.
I think of the sky
as I think of you
of infinite stars
of colours and oceans.
Of letters stuck to the neem trees
as I hold your this lost letter.
Thunder,
this is the only word that you should sleep on
for you remind me of rudimentary silhouettes of trees,
lukewarm peel of laughter.
I just issued a newsletter yesterday on fathers. Check it out-https://tinyletter.com/my_valiant_soul/letters/poetry-on-father