A MONDAY ROSE

Mondays aren't boring
always.
Some are creative
like a poet,
try to sketch the past
on the heart of present,
yet beautiful,
like a rose blooming
close to
a grave's muddy slab!

Mondays aren't boring
always.
Some are romantic
unusually.
She arrived early,
the sun's white rays
warmed her wait
in the Indian winter.
She stood,
bothered not the honks
that seemed to disturb
her stay
amidst the busy 
Monday square!

Mondays aren't boring
always.
This one was reverberating
enough,
filled a pool of long emptiness,
distances shortened
and hearts strengthened,
air excited,
lips reddened!

She looked gorgeous,
is always gorgeous;
her words baptised my love.
Her words vaporised not
over two cups of coffee,
my yearning for her
found a shelter in her;
she smiled,
and I could not deny
that Mondays aren't boring
always,
wished
every Monday be like the one
when it wasn't boring anyway!