Times Such as These

Mostly it’s a space-time bubble
When we meet-
Our ages: some random integers,
Our location: some random GPS setting,
Our getup: one from some random novel.
Rain, hail, snow or air –
The Met department couldn’t get it.
We meet in a cafe as the weather
Picks itself up.
That unknown open air cafe,
The random coffee,
And an icognito band playing
Beautiful songs of anarchy-
All floating beside a lake
Filled with dandelions.
There must be some teleporter
In our backyards,
Or maybe in our minds,
Who knows?
Even that lone dew-drop on the rose,
That I bring for you,
Is from a random ocean I have never seen.
The only non-random thing
Is us.
And also that quaint drummer in the cafe,
Playing such hypnotic drumbeats,
That anarchy aranges itself.

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About zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

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