shyamli - this poem is for a friend who recently passed away.

We hold on

to our mistaken identities,

Thoughts.

Glances.

Misread and misinterpreted,

Meander slow in beads

of viscous sweat,

Down,

Leaving behind trails of soot,

Purely for the sake

of remembrance.

You nurse your bruises,

in the shade

of the giant vines and canopies.

Brilliantly coloured orchards,

in your simpleton backyard.

No abysses, darkness or voids.

No scorching suns,

to spoil this day.

Wandering through the wisps

we meet, yet again, in your

Vivid delusional escapades.

Through the nights,

we shall hold on to each other

and a warm cup of tea.

The wolves shall eventually tire

and run away,

we shall be safe, alone,

yet again.


I put in the context because I felt that then we get to see that it's such a deadly poem.