Under the Red Umbrella

 Under the Red Umbrella



Under a shade of the red umbrella,

with shadows soft, like evening’s vela,

we sit where towers kiss the skies,

watching the city’s moments rise.


Toronto hums with cars and breeze,

yet here we rest, with gentle ease.

A wish as simple, pure, and small—

French fries and diet cola call.


Love is not in riches grand,

but in the clasp of a waiting hand.

Among tall walls of glass and stone,

we make this bench our quiet home.


G R Kaviyoor

15.09.2025 

(Toronto, Canada)

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