Thursday, 4 May 2017

the end will not be flamboyant

the end will not be flamboyant
the night will not gobble me up
the frogs will not sing goodbye
and no rose will be hustled down the lane
the petals would remain fresh untill the vase is changed
as the morning returns
into newer hands and a newer face and a newer sun
the man beside looks tidier than the other.
the bed will be made, the house will be
spread, the walls painted
there will not be a trace of how
you sneaked in
there will be no broken windows,
no twisted doorknobs
not a blotch of red
nor an empty glass of wine with a stain
there won't be anything unsightly, I assure.
just lullaby with the breeze
to the whiteness of my curtains,
and let me fall asleep.


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