ICE-CREAM CONE

At the ice-cream stall we stood;
Twiddling thumbs and stroking fingers.
He laughed through his rims, tears
falling on his pale cheeks. I, brushed
them, teary and flushed.

The ice-cream melted and all that left,
was the cone. Giggling and the jokes that followed on; was there an ice-cream cone or
just our hands making air shapes along.
We bid goodbye to the ice-cream
stall and jogged on.

Who eats at a beach stall,
while on a run? He sat on the
sand, I stood by him, we gazed
at the sunset; bitter-sweet and beaming.
A million waves went by, I sat besides
him and mocked virgin nuns.
How did I eat an ice-cream while on a run.

I held his hand, pulled him up;
my usual two hours, seemed like an
interstellar minute. Only a bad boy, my
mother once said, would hinder your runs
and laugh at your bad puns. But who
would tell her, while on the beach, he was the only one that stood long enough to buy me an ice-cream cone while I was on the run.

Written by Aishwarya Khale

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