Shape on Sheets
I awake and stare at the crumpled white sheets
Sunlight fighting its way into the room
To embrace the baren sheets.
The crumples form a shape,
A shape my memory knows so well,
A shape my fingers can only beg for,
A shape that lies far beyond my Delhi reality,
In my London dream.
One day I shall reclaim that shape,
And the soul it belongs to.
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