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.


About Zeeshan

We are the twinkle in the eyes of oblivion.

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