|Painting : Bittersweet Goodbyes by Grace Morai|
A subdued aura of emotions gripped the place,
Her eyes never gave away to the inevitable moment,
She carried herself around, as graceful as ever,
While her heart, were sewing groups of burning cells.
I watched her frazzled face glowing with the Sun,
Her words were inaudible with the moving flux,
She held my hand, tight, as if she was holding on
To a rope that may help her out of her gorge.
I never knew what her words conveyed, It may
Have helped her if I understood, but for now it
Floated around my head, but never pierced inside,
Like an artistic hunter, it was waiting for the right time.
She embraced me a final time, and it seemed clocks
Stopped for the love that she held, to flow gently
Onto my heart; I held her close, and with a stroke
Of pointless hope, I asked her, 'Will we meet again?'
'When the moment beckons, hearts meet here,
When you hold love that keeps brimming out,
Do not fret any long, like how spores from a flower
Fly all over to meet its destiny, we shall too', she said.
Now, the hunter holds his knife close to my heart,
The winter that my heart passed through, made me callous
The knife of the spy, was shifted into the pen in my hands,
And with its ceaseless ink I wrote my ruined story,
O, and I wonder, how a scrapped story got her adept name?!