Mark a Book Book a Mark

(Soliloquoy : An act of speaking one's thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play.) Mark a book, book a mark. Not every household has the same pattern of backbiting. Not every mother in law mentors the daughter in law in the same manner and vice versa. It is always noteworthy why you are finding the cliches in your own poem. Where you are still a hype in your own school thought, never made the ground , strong grip to label them your own. You just have a pair of eyes that is getting updated with spectacles with each and every new year, and you knew that maturity is process of losing too. Why you could not say you are a lingering thought too, with the fallen leaf. Think about something simple, butterfly, grasshoppers, chirping of birds and lots and lots of green. I wish for the cat that got immortal in my only memoir. My freezer still has a green container where she was served. The cats roaming in the here and now are two different stories. Yesterday, leaf was dragging her little head, between my legs. Under the comforter, she was cooing. She has layers of sounds, I can barely touch her. But most of the time, It unfolds in a make belief story. Clover is a laid off serviceman. He supplicates , for peace and hopefulness. Yet her hands , has a story of the nicest puffy ball, almost like henna, never too much weary, never too much troublesome. Leaf is the mesmerized housekeeper with a bombarded situation of underdog keys. Her cooing reminds me about a possible interjection,"Look at this mess! O pony tail, just look at this mess!" And I will think about the next whole milk powdery treat. For me. For Clover. For Leaf.