Whisk The Emptiness Away

The weekend is here
Stay in bed weekend --they call it
Night falls fast, snow falls softly
Covering the past

The day peeks out of
Plantation shutters
The city is waking
To ambulance sirens

Where am I
Am I home?
When will I stop
Fleeing ---from pain

I will not --stay in bed
Drink my cuppa
Don my glasses
Spritz my hair

And buy a dream home
My own home
With lots of --windows

To whisk the emptiness away.

by Monita Soni

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