tree

Under red stars

And a turquoise sky,

When we are not even in this world

I would try

To play an imaginary piano

My fingers would go up and down

On the desk too high

And as I hummed a made-up tune,

You would smile.

Making me wish,

I had actually learnt how.

Maybe then,

Every time we walked past

The artist of monochrome dreams,

Mine, the yard of

Many a wasted masterpiece

You would’ve heard

Over all life

And the clement breeze,

Whimpers of longing

In the rustle of its leaves.