sands.jpg I found it, a grim looking day creeping onto me under the sheets. I can sense the house was emptied of its vibrant shades and music. Those companions of mine left me previous sunset, which had darkened the waters and skies of my world.

Now, the silence is filling the emptiness around the house and am surprised, how victorious it sounds! This is what happens when I do not let others, but brightness with her myriad shades borrowed from lemonish yellows, reds and oranges to enter my house. Silvery shaded raindrops are drumming on the roof, a faint voice is inviting me to blend with their playful attitude, when I curled into your shoulder.

I spread my hands to grasp nothing and rolled over to the other side to beam a smile at someone hovering by the window. How sad the poem looks, before I could say something to that, it flew away far from the false steps over the gravel path, far away from a vague laughter shared by the strangers in the street, far away from the gray clouds!

Here she comes, the morning glow! I turn my bare back to her so that she could caress me with her warmth, as I prepared myself to write a song to you nestling under a warm basket of yellow light she brought into my room. The worlds buried inside me come alive in such vibrant shades of orange and red, and that’s all I really want at this moment. Sitting on the bed, crowned in deep tresses, with too many colors rioting in my breast and too many songs on my lips, for you! the boy for who I have no more tantrums, a stranger who left me last evening. He pulled the car door closed and turned the key.

That pause, that silence and that evening was written for you. The corner. The hug.  The soft rustle of leaves. The periphery edging with a teardrop. The silence beneath the clasp of the fingers. The words crowded under my lips. The frozen stare. The pause. Stayed back to live with me.

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I am so emotionally spent right now. Everything from my heart was invested. I feel I am emotionally dead. No qualms about being emotionally vulnerable and broken. It makes me more human. As if I was given, at the life’s counter, a pack of bitter chocolate, considering my ability to bite into debacles and the further outcome anguish spread around as a thin layer. But, would those heartbeats live on the edge of a swing reaching out to the depth of trees with their arms extended stay sedated by grief forever?  No, I doubt.  This space will remain silent for a period.