past happiness

The shower splatters,
Mirror fogs up,
The voice of old memories,
Floats past me.
As I clean it up,
With my palm,
Nursing the wounds,
Of bitten nails.
Throbbing.

Regret takes up the vision.
I look on,
In the hopes of
Seeing salvation.
Future sighs,
Marred by despair,
Holds me,
Still.

Nothing of the old days,
Finds a place,
In this new life.
I cannot use ‘my’,
It will never fit,
I will be left,
With yearning.

Respite:
The random images,
A gift of passed time,
Of leaving everything,
Behind.

Pictorial memories:
The peeling yellow paint,
Walls, friends with the water
Dripping on to the floor
During the rains
The scramble of unclogging
The roof drains.
Divine.

The little wags of white tail,
The terrace a vantage point,
To see love’s eternity,
Nothing forgotten.
The childhood games,
The furtive glances,
Infantile.

Everything contained,
In one level.
Only two steps,
To reach life.
Scribbled walls,
Looking happy,
Delight.

Now I write,
Away from everyone.
A room with big windows,
An outside I dreamt of.
Nothing fills the hole,
Left behind.
The slight comfort,
Pen on paper,
Melancholy.

No inspiration of joy in sight,
Everything is orange,
But feels white.
No hope of going back,
I still smell the old books,
Not enough.
Never.

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