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.