you look at
days
weeks
months
years –
and
they look back with
surprise:
like a dead man’s eyes
staring at the void-
the promised paradise
a mere last gasp of air that
refused to breathe itself out.
‘did you finish your bucket list?’

the cycle vendor is selling
brooms made of straw
to clean and gather
yesterday
to
throw it out.
fresh start is a clean house- an empty house.

‘does your house have corners to weep in?’

the jhumka bail and the
bougainvillea have shrunk-
withdrawn to your bitter cold presence
or maybe it’s the winter
that does that to living things… perhaps.

‘are there warm corners in your coat pocket’

silence buzzing in your ears
deafening to conversations
that hold people together
you
are merely quiet
or mute –
tongue cut by slicing remarks
by tongues flapping, licking, twisting words sharply.

‘is your heart deep enough to hold words?’

the last evening
another day in it’s making-
and
what’s a year amputated
from your life
where abundance –
fervour-
longing –
absences-
all
fill to the hem
             the brink
             ruptures; breaking loose-
flooding
flooding
curving along the edges of your body
filling emptiness
to the brim

you will close the night
to silence
whispering your name
on the cold
winter night
tapping at your window
a solitary farewell
to those you
loved and lost

…

Dee is from lahore. loves old trees, words and surreal nights~