INSPIRED

“I like it here in your balcony.” He said. “It overlooks your garden. I wish I lived here with you. Would your parents mind?” “What do you think?” Glued into her book, she continued to write. “It would be great. I would sit here on this easy chair and you would read out your poems to me. The sad ones that you write.” “And you still read them?” “We could grow old together.” “Aisha would mind.” She looked up at him. “Remember the first time we met?” “You joined in the third year of college. You read my poem.” “I found it on the floor. A scribbled paper fallen to the ground.” “I looked for it on my desk but found it in your hands. You smiled while you read it.” “A happy poem at the time but not anymore.” “Six brief years after that day and now you have a girlfriend.” “Can I read it now?” “Two minutes.” She stuck her head back into her book. “Hollow. That’s the title?” He peeked. “Done.” She continued to write the last line. “You compensate your constant smile with sad poems.” “Here” She hands over her book. “Read my poem now and read it aloud. I can make changes after that” “Ok… HOLLOW Crumbled and fallen apart Tears visited my broken heart Addicted to pain I fell deeper in vain When luck did not take a stand And fate played its own hand Desires travelled a one-way street For hearts that failed to meet Love inclined towards the forbidden Now lonely dreams are far from hidden If only I could find another soul As empty and as whole Refined and hollow, I’d stand here today For another love to come my way” “Well?” She waited on him. “Did you meet a drunken pale broken-hearted man at a bar?” “You know my fondness for drunken men at bars.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s good but you have to tell me.” He gave her the book. “Tell you what?” “Your inspiration. Who broke your heart?” “You’ll never know.” She looked out her balcony. “Oh, it’s a secret.” He smiled and folded his hands. “A mysterious drunkard stole your heart.” “What’s that dreadful sound?” “My phone” He laughed, “It’s on vibration.” Took out the phone from his pocket. “Why don’t you put a decent ringtone?” “Hi. Yeah. I’ll be there in twenty. Love you. Bye.” “Aisha?” “3 O’clock show today. She’ll reach in twenty minutes.” “But it’ll take you forty minutes to reach.” “Then I better hurry. I got delayed. You took time with a poem you’ll never publish or show to the world.” “I might surprise you.” “Then do that.” He grabbed his helmet, “But your inspiration for broken-hearted poems? You have to tell me next time. Bye.” He rushed out. “You are.” She whispered.