Letters at Day’s End #1





Maitrey,
our days have come to an end
and your words will soon trail away
following your footsteps to a faraway place,
distant from our small, sluggish city
where the solitary rains
would trap the melancholy of despairing days
into the conversations of people
in quiet, forgotten corners.

 

Yes, our city is a dream in itself
floating amidst the clouds
like secrets
scratching under a ragged skin.

 




Our midnight banters will have dazed away,
somewhere in between the distance
of our careless lives
and the inevitability of our words
being buried by a fading attendance.
The skies too, will have poured down
the sorrows on our heads
and the ecstasy in our souls,
like an irony, inexorably beautiful;
and you,
will have left behind a void in my space
that no sunshine can fill.
And in that void,
I shall find myself drowning,
every time I realise the uncertainty of our stories
ever sharing a junction.

 

I miss the coffee we never got to have.
And the stares we never got to share.
The things we never got to say.
The memories we never got to make.
Like perfect ideas, we never took shape.

 

On nights as these,
broken pieces of a bygone shade
shall intrude into the confines of my mind
and bring to me the possibility,
of you,
thinking the same thought.
And that alone, perhaps, shall keep me dreaming
through the entire night,
in the hopes of finding myself somewhere,
in front of you—
sipping that forgotten coffee:
dark and dreadfully strong;
and eyes locked with fierce likeness
telling stories without any sounds.

 


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