Dada

What kind of friendship is that ?
I know you would ask
and that’s probably
the reason, of Das* dada* i don’t talk.
food lovers, tale tellers,
crossing days of school
like a game of bingo,
sharing bitter fear
and strawberry dreams,
hours we would pass
the phone bills ran high
in few initial years
once he even came home
with gifts so much dear
and then he vanished one day
where , why , no one could say.
I am prone to losing friends though
I miss him still curse him lot,
think of him, any free time i got.
he was precious,always will be so.

Submitted to One Shot Wednesday

Prompted @ NaPoWriMo day#7 . It asks you to write a poem with seven different phrases, ideas, or just plain old “things” in it. These are:

1) an example of synasthetic metaphor — one that describes one sensory perception using adjectives more naturally suited to a different sense (e.g., “a red noise,” or a “a bitter touch”)
2) a fruit
3) the name (first or last) of someone you knew in school
4) a rhetorical question
5) a direct address to the poem’s audience — “Reader” or “mom” or “Michelle,” or maybe just “You”)
6) a word in a foreign language
7) a reference to a game of chance (darts or pool or the lottery or etc).

*Das = Last name of my friend

Dada = elder brother in bengali language

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