Last Monday,I finally built your grave.
My masterpiece-
After three dry winters.
Blissfully I'd buried memories manifold
Of years -3 short of a decade..
I was jaded, telling people about
The unfinished pages of our story.
Their unceasing questions reminding me of an abyss
I'd so tried to elude.
I couldn't tell 'em
How I'd stiched your wounds
Letting myself bleed.
I couldn't tell
That you hurt me so bad
Even pain lost its meaning.
I couldn't tell them
How I'd delineated you
In perfectly rhymed poems
Or painted you
In brush strokes of ardent love.
I couldn't tell them
How I'd drenched you
In downpours of love
While you made me drown
In pain-incessant.
You surmised I'd always be silent.
And you'd be the storm- catastrophic.
I was petrified we would lose our flame
And we did,
Your smoke filled balcony of December-
The witness.
And we remained some unrhymed poetry.
I'd told myself Pain wasn't forever
And that
One spring morning,it would all leave my flesh.
Three winters later, it's decamped my soul.
I've buried you and those memories.
And now an assuaged smile escaping from my lips,
I can tell people you were dead...
For me....
©pragya
P