Talk to me.
Your words make an impact
like the wind that whispers-
gentle yet profound.
There is an innocence in your syllables
like a child’s cascade chuckle
flowing from your beetroot tongue.
There is some honey in them, too,
the bees were distracted, perhaps.
Talk to me
Talk to me
my love
for your words are my cup of tea
on a lonely day
when it rains on an empty road
none there.
When you don’t talk
I will be that purple rose
that has wilted- devoid of water.
I will be the sun in the night-
dead.
Talk to me
simply because we are humans.
Copyrights @Brindha Vinodh
Brindha’s blog 