I look out of the window,
I search through the darkness
To find meaning in the eclipsed moon.
It is quiet at this hour,
But the cluttered mind
Which struggles to settle
And move swiftly like the floating grey clouds.
I open the book,
I see A dried faded rose flower
Flattened between the crumbled yellowed pages.
A flashback throws open
And I feel memories cutting through
The wound which never healed.
I told you I didn’t like flowers
I still don’t,
They remind me of the shards of unfulfilled vows.
It’s a sweet lie everyone holds on to,
That memories are to live for.
I recall them.
And I feel an ache.
Tangible memories and
Token of hope
Don’t they just fill the void?
May be I believe in this lie too
May be I’ll hold on to this beautiful lie,
And keep the dried petals
A little longer
Till the time they crumble
Into the abyss of despair.