The Unfinished Dress

The Unfinished Dress

An unfinished dress, a tale untold,
Lies waiting, a story yet to unfold.
I gaze upon its beauty, a poignant sight,
A garment paused in time, a memory in flight.

How do I confess, with a heart that's grey,
The one who cherished it, has gone away?
The beads of memories, once strung with care,
Now gather dust, in a market, beyond repair.

I thought to recreate, a new design,
To breathe life into it, a new storyline.
But alas, the season's gone, the moment's lost,
The dress remains, a relic of a love that's frosted.

I recall the touch, of my fingers so fine,
The fabric's texture, a sensual delight divine.
Today, a stray stain, a whispered sigh,
Echoes of memories that still linger, and won't fly.

I conceal the stain, with a careful hand,
Yet, it adds a charm to this unfinished land.
The dress awakens, with a newfound glow,
"Beware, dear one," it whispers, "let me bloom anew, don't go."

Wear me, and savor your favorite brew,
Dance in hidden alleys, with abandon true.
Feast your eyes, on my intricate folds,
And set forth, on new journeys, young and bold.

Though I'm old, weave new memories, dear heart,
Let others see me, as mere fabric, a work of art.
You know the truth, and that's all that matters,
I'm more than cloth, I'm the love that still scatters.

– Goldi Mishra