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I have this friend of mine,

brilliantly skilled in performing

things that can annoy me

to the utmost. I am amazed at

my luck to have this fellow.

One fine day, he visited my place

in evening when I was on terrace

bidding good bye to setting sun.

Hours of dusk pour a calmness weird

into my heart. Only time I feel rest.

His eyes were swinging along with the

clouds stuck in sky to use it as playground.

Nivedita, write me a poem on clouds

their white color, their ice cream shape,

their cold vibrance.

I walked towards my table to get my pen.

As soon as I begun and only a few words

born on paper. Nivedita, this isn't right.

Clouds aren't white. See properly, they are

orange. Without any shape. Floating.

I erased my words, replaced white by orange,

ice cream by nothing. Flickering vibrancy

by speedy floating. Just a paragraph

did turn alive. Again his voice. You don't listen

to me attentively. You only ignore me.

I raised my head. Nivedita, clouds are grey,

dark, patches of light living only under shade

of moon. They are flat discs. Broken chains too

somewhere. They have no energy. How can

they move speedily.

And I looked at his face constantly for a while.

Put off my note book. My pen. Approached

to the gate downwards. Oh! You must be

tired after so much work. Please make coffee

for me too. I again looked at his face.

So tired me did make two cups of coffee.

One for my tired self.

Other for this friend of mine.

Who is too annoying. 

But never leaves me alone to cry. 

Though I can't in his presence

write any poetry.


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