Your memory comes like the last breath And leaves, taking agonisingly slow steps

A gradual eclipse permeates my entire being

When I utter your name under the gaze of full moon

On the brink of where our journey ended, my nights flow towards that eventual hell

I lie awake in the casket of nothingness, watching you grow into a vine of silver flowers

You, then, circle my sorrow masterfully 

Like a honeybee, knowingly, flies towards the chosen flower

What have I done?

I’ve memorised your mouth

I’ve learnt you like directions & solitude

I carry your shadow like a parasol 

What have I done?

I left my soul at the altar of your eyes

And I returned with the holy ache of love

(I’m like that queen who bought a slave & made him the master)

Is this how we buy ourselves a desirable death?

Memories, which come like the last breath …!


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