A Sceptic Eye

Consciousness,

Shattered to pieces,

never can come,

Together enough,

To love you once again,

Like before.

It rains,

like yesterday,

But the drops aren’t transparent anymore.

To you I’d written,

An Ode,

In mismatch poetry,

Stashed now between the bills,

Of two forgotten tea cups,

In a cheap restaurant,

Somewhere,

Someplace.

Confused,

In puddles of unaddressed drizzles,

I look up to the hills hidden in the fog,

All smug and happy,

And let my sun dry them away.

The clock races now,

To a fitting end in infinity.

I decide to spend my time well,

Designing a funeral for all the words knocking at my door.

Two heartbeats away,

A blind sweeper,

scoops our tea bills,
My poetry,
Our past,

and perhaps my life,

Into a new beginning,

Of an end.

-Palash

August’2013, Lumding.