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Certain Days
Only few things get me through bad days.
Prateek Kuhad’s songs.
A perfect cup of tea.
The clouds.
Poetry.
Today,
None have worked.
The songs kept playing, I didn’t hear a word being sung.
I sipped the tea, but couldn’t taste it.
The clouds swept by, keeping me livid.
Poetry seems to make no difference.
Now I wonder,
What am I missing here,
A certain song,
Or a certain voice.
A certain ingredient,
Or a certain touch.
A certain cloud,
Or a certain sky.
A certain something,
Or a certain someone.
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