Doors

I looked for doors because they told me doors are meant for arrivals.

So I stood near it, looking for someone to come and hold this body where hollowness breathed so loudly that it scratched ears and left no place to sleep. 

I looked for doors because they told me doors were meant for arrivals but they led to endless departures as I kept failing.

Miserably. Without a pause. So I sat near it, waiting for another winter to end. 

I looked for doors because they told me doors are meant for arrivals.

So I stood near it as the grief grew roots around my legs and made them numb like my father’s who closed his doors years back but still stands close to it. 

I look for doors because they told me doors are meant for arrivals and I let them stay open for you. But you never arrived and I realised what Rilke meant.

Maybe the same bird passed through both of us, separating us apart. All together.