May
16
2018
By Anindya Chaudhuri on Wed, 05/16/2018 - 15:20 IST
My body bristles,
with the impatience,
of a storm.
I sit in a chair,
and stare;
Out,
through the window;
Even as I see,
the trees in the wind,
calling out to me;
I turn inward.
Inward, to thee.