On this long straight road
I was standing
At the farthest hour of time
Desperately waiting, talking to myself, wondering
Would she come
At this end meet me?
Would I be good enough
For her eyes to adore me?
There is no pumped up
Heart beat in the core
But if she missed by any chance
Sure would break with frantic tone
Once I was told
Never to expect any filmy moments
And with the progressive ages
Uncertainty was one of my appearances
The bus was delayed
And I was in the losing-all-hope state
But here she came with glaring look
Saying, “Sorry, I am late!”
This is 14th poem of NaPoWriMo 2016 challenge.
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