Made by Swati Singh
I suppose it makes no sense
To talk, about experience
That I have never had but yet –
It feels real (in my head)
I’ve lived the stories I have read
And drunk the words, too
Take a cuppa, with me friend
It is a heady brew.
Behind the blue fogged windows
And the meandering lanes
Lie the meanings that I know
But cannot explain.
And there, beyond the window panes
The dusty darkest trunk contains
treasures produced by human brains
Whose leather bound spines remain
Erect as they were new.
Their covers portals into worlds
Of magic, mystery, women and men
Like the ones we daily meet
Or wish to meet again
And in their August company
I simply wish, for you and me
To travel to their world of words
With a cup of tea.
Some people are like assortments within themselves. Swati Singh is one of those people. Caught between precision and presentation, she is often found either striking a fine balance between the two, or attempting to hibernate under a rock. She is a blogger who rarely blogs, an artist who hardly draws and a debater who attempts to wriggle out of most arguments. For the most part , her talents lie dormant as she procrastinates with a single minded lack of determination shared only by her cat, but in her rare moments of clarity, she is likely to impress you with her fierce speeches, witty comebacks and her commendable ability to quote Emily Dickinson and text entirely in rhyme.
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