It’s THEM I’m Jealous of…

Winter is normally the season linked to romanticism.The chilly bone-biting night outside, while you are snuggled up inside in your blanket with a hot cup of tea/coffee (as you prefer) and a romantic novel in hand.What could be better? In this poem, the love struck protagonist is away from her beloved. She imagines him doing all his daily chores and when she imagines all the things that must be coming in contact with him, she craves even more to break the barriers and to be with him.

Hello friends.

Season’s greetings…

Winter is normally the season linked to romanticism… The chilly bone-biting night outside, while you are snuggled up inside in your blanket with a hot cup of tea/coffee (as you prefer) and a romantic novel in hand… What could be better?

Here I bring you one of my compositions with the same flavor. In this poem, the love struck protagonist is away from her beloved. She imagines him doing all his daily chores and when she imagines all the things that must be coming in contact with him, she craves even more to break the barriers and to be with him…

 

It’s THEM I’m Jealous of…

The morning sun bright & shine,

Rises up, spreads its rays far & wide.

It’s not the sun I’m jealous of,

But of its rays that touch you first.

 

The birds on the window sill near your bed,

Strike the chords as you get ready for the day.

It’s not the birds I’m jealous of,

But the melody that reaches your ears first.

 

The coffee in the mug, hot & steaming,

Charges you with its vibes electrifying.

It’s not the coffee I’m jealous of,

But the cup that touches your lips first.

 

On the roads alive & bustling,

You greet the people out there smiling.

It’s not the people I’m jealous of,

But those eyes that see your smile first.

 

The bed at home, warm & soft,

Where you lie down after a day’s hard work.

It’s not the bed I’m jealous of,

But the quilt that you cover & the pillows you hug.

 

The cool breeze at night & the moon in the sky,

Put you to sleep humming their sweet lullaby.

It’s neither the breeze nor the moon I’m jealous of,

But the lullaby that is whispered into your ears…

 

Monica Senapati.

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