White…

Wind chime flirted with

White lace curtains

By kitchen window

That witnessed quietly

Fall of  milk and doused flame.

I was not burnt

But bore the brunt,

Tasting imagined flavours of crumbs and cream

That spilled dramatically

When the doorbell rang

And I stumbled…

Split of white second, a momentary bliss –

Mind couldn’t retrieve, though….

“All good?”

“Of course, just a pudding.”

Wind chime flirted, once again.

Copyright © 2017, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

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