Soul in the Shower
The last time I showered,
I fancied the art of falling in love… again.
As if, 13 broken poetries woven into one.
I could not differentiate between my tears and the droplets.
Perhaps, the only space where I can
let my emotions drain
with the fragranced soap water,
which covered the odour of my past.
I wish my towel could be capable of soaking,
all the scars that you gave me.
The ones my body got imprinted with.
I just lay here, like the towel in a lightless bathroom.
All these emotions cherishing and sailing.
Our differences still haunt me,
like a cliff with no railings.
No comments:
Post a Comment