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.

                                                                          …Shiv.