Almost Forgotten

I distinctly remember thinking of this poem sitting on the swing on my terrace on an extraordinarily windy day.

You know, the ones when it’s neither sunny nor cloudy. The ones when the sun comes and goes and you constantly have to push your hair back from your face because of the incessant wind. They’re my idea of Pretty Weather Days, for those who have read Perks Of Being A Wallflower. 
I wait for such days.

This poem is old. So old that I almost forgot.
It’s short too.

I really hope you like it.

Ever felt like
the only person alive?
In a crowd,
but still alone.
With only the winds
as your companion,
whispering the secrets
of the world.
Ever stared
at the horizon,
wondering what’s beyond.
With the silent songs
as the only noise,
and the beat of your heart
the only sound.

I wrote this around two years ago I think, when I was thirteen.

Can poems have questions?
Does this even qualify for a poem then?

I’m just confused.

To the person reading this sentence, thank you for reading through this post.

Until We Meet Again.


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