Monday, 2 April 2012

Why did you have to cut the string?
It had my clothes drying on it.
It had your smell on it,
I wore it by night.

Where is the bed sheet?
Our crumpled giggles tucked under mattress.
The only company,
To our night long chats.

I hated the pillow; you insisted it to be pink,
But it smelt of lilies; of your hair.
Seen kisses between fights,
It has moles of our tears.

The blanket under which,
We picked stars as yours and mine.
And chose a place to be together there,
When done here with our time.

The closets have locked themselves up,
They say you have the key.
What do I do with the bunch I have?
The door wouldn’t answer, I can’t even unlock me.

The tea doesn’t taste warm enough,
It tastes cold as death.
The stove doesn’t light,
It lacks the passion to burn.

I see through the window of life,
And find myself stranded in.
Why have your fingers grown so stiff?
For strength, my fingers can’t grip in.

I don’t have anything left of you,
Just memories, even that have turned grey.
You didn’t have to cut the string my dear,
My clothes still lie astray.


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