By Ankita Brahma
Saturated sink of sunlight,
overflowing horizon of seas,
life foams in your mouth till you choke,
love turns into graveyard
of feelings buried deep.
War breaks out, genocide not ending.
Nuclear attacks on each other till nothing remains,
but radiations to affect us till we die.
We love till we cry,
and when everything ends, we hate.
And what would you do if I told you
I ripped out my heart just to keep you happy?
but you left anyways
with pieces of our love on the floor
and I keep wondering if it’s mine or yours.
What do you do when you give it your all
and it’s still not enough?
So I pour more;
water the dead flowers,
plant rotten seeds,
dig up the ‘you’ you buried
when you closed that door.
Was I wrong when I tried to re-write our story?
I just wanted my ending to be happy.
Because when you touched me,
it felt like forgiveness and holy.
Everytime, I whisper in your ears:
If it wasn’t for you would have been lost at sea.
But each petals I grow is plucked out by you
till there’s nothing left but withered pieces of me
in the desert turned from sea without you.
Can’t you see I’m more beautiful
whole than in pieces?
Your eyes are clouded,
blinded with hatred,
covered by hands of a girl I never could be.
And it pains me to think that
I’d do everything to feel your warmth again
but the cold creeps in like the December wind,
bristling through the willow trees,
a ringing sound of love and hope.
Despair is the answer.
I sit across the steps on the porch,
a safe space where we first held hands
and wonder if it was worth it
to beg and fall?
I realised, sometimes, stopping
and moving on is enough.
I am enough.
There’s things incapable to control
in your fate you created.
And sometimes you just have to walk away.
And it’s what you have to do
when the hand you’re holding
doesn’t hold you back anymore.