In camaraderie: A collection of awry sonnets

These writings were attempted as sonnets, but they took their own rhythm and meter, and transformed into words smitten with feelings, albeit, still a poem, but an awry one; hence the title, ‘awry sonnets’.  This is a work in progress entry.



I miss familiar fingers playing lazily on my arm
The slow sun rise on that cold Sunday morning
The smell of burnt tea leaves
tunes of a familiar yet beautiful music
I remember the person next to me,
the hair on his face,
gently teasing mine,
the embrace of the legs
the tea cup,
gone cold.
I miss,
looking in the mirror
and finding
two smiling
ready for
yet another day
of solitary nothingness.
Living just as if,
this is



I feel I have you
on chats, emails,
Your presence
there for just me
I cannot see
the papers,
the plants
the distraction
that takes you
away from me.
Your words
all mine,
your being
just mine
like the
morning sun
who shines by
my window
smiling to me
as if




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