Tear Bubbles

Her silent tears

Fell on a cold blanket.

The shivers within were mutely contained

The soothing hand that was no more present

Loomed in the yellow shadow of a glass window

Ever present, ever elusive

Flimsy, broken, continuous

Like her endless tear-bubbles.

Copyright © 2015 Arpita Pramanick

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About Arpita

Arpita Pramanick is a little, young woman with a bright face (who'd rather not look directly into a stranger's eye) you'll find walking on the corridors of Mu Sigma, Inc. She tells herself she wants to be a properly published writer (by which she means she wants to be published from the likes of Penguin), but isn't really so sincere about writing everyday. So if you see her, tell her to go write. She'll love you for doing that!
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