The Poem And The Coffee Mug

ONE

Okay. So, the pool of words I know,

I have so unconsciously deposited within my heart.

You need to know.

You need to know how eighty-four months were not just a joke,

How they were not the result of constant reconciliations,

How they were not a part of any compromise,

And how they circled around my life and you decided to step out.

When time came, how we took care of each other and how we shouted on each other.

Night crawled up to my mind, left me devastated.

I unconditionally pledged my trust to you. Forgot why I was devastated.

Reconstruction took place but Love had always its place in my breaking, re-breaking but Care never forgot to touch my soul.

TWO

Dust, window and open door. Seasons have crossed our thresholds one after another. Witnessing the ruthlessness of face and warmth of our lips,

The last seasons were painful. I know. I was troubled but I was used to be in that way,

No, we didn't want it.

If distance did matter why you came all the way?

If distance did matter why I couldn't stop myself from going there again and again?

If comprise was happening again and again, why we kept coming to each other?

If and if… there were ifs and yet there was love.

My skin and the blood beneath it bear the scar of my unprejudiced attachment to you,

I regret not doing things I could have done

Yet I feared to stop trying.

The fear of losing you again and again!

THREE

Empty pocket, muffin and closed door,

Summer heat, Bunked office at around Four.

I was aware what I was doing - a hope that I had been carrying. A lie that had been building.

I never wanted to come back. Why did you let me?

You loved me and I could see that in the glistening of your eyes and caressing of your fingers around my cheek.

I feel them even now,

But this perilous feeling keeps me reminding of the stark absence of those fingers and nails.

From like a mountain stream, rolled down your throat, leaving the two temples behind and ran into the small dry pool that was waiting to be filled with what I thought the Elixir of Love.

Yet we fell apart.

FOUR

The final chapter, restless nights, the wounded evening.

And the decapitated meaning of life.

Death came to me at a high price. No it couldn't take my life till now.

But blessed with the days and nights of ecstasy,

“You will live everyday and you will die everyday “.

Choice was not given but thrown to me like a garbage in a bin bag. The black bin bag.

It is night and you know what's coming,

I am keeping the coffee mug as an antidote and the usual restless pain continues

“The meaninglessness of seven years?”

The Sleep.

The Coffee.

The Poem.