The Remains

Sitting on the steps of the backdoor
I look at the sun gliding into the horizon
The waning blob of the reddish tinge
The tinge which I remember
Also adorned your lips so often
The memory of which
I immediately regret
It doesn’t hurt anymore, frankly
The thought of you, I mean
But I can’t help rue
The possibilities
The would-have-beens and could-have-beens
The childish sorrow of the biscuit
Melted in a hot cup of tea
Or the grief of the flower
Plucked before it had the chance
To grow fully
All that remains now is the memory
Of moments we inhaled and exhaled together
Locking our secrets to the wind
Secrets of passion, and dreamy merryland
Which get recycled now
Sitting here on the steps of the backdoor
As each wave of Southwest breeze hits my body
And also that peculiar word
Called Nostalgia!
The sun has gone into oblivion now
But not quite
In the form of moonlight
It’s presence is to be felt again

5 thoughts on “The Remains

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