IN MEMORIAM OF A SUMMER DAY

The first time you  said

that my eyes are beautiful 

my salty palms turned cold and my lungs gasped.

It was long time ago,

when you and me were 

in my garden, watering purple chrysanthemums

A summer day,

now a blurred memory

You were standing under the shadow of  the mahagony tree 

three feet apart

but not a safe distance for my love to take a chance.

I watched you peeling the 

oranges, your slender fingers moving as in a ballet.

The  brown eyes and pitch black hair and my

heart chanting the holy verse to itself 'love..love'.

Your lips curling into that

beautiful smile and eyes wandering in the blue sky 

Below the surface something was breaking

then I averted my eyes

the fear gripping  in my veins.

It was a summer day

no longer a blurred memory.

I should have told you

what the red hermit between my bones was singing.

But I didn't.

The first time you  said

that my eyes are beautiful 

my salty palms turned cold and my lungs gasped.

I should have uttered atleast a nervous 'thank you'

if I knew that

it was also the last time.

Because the way you bid 

good bye never told me

it was a metaphor.

I have shed three thousand tear drops in the altar of your memories and sacrificed thousand bright smiles for you.

I can fight a war 

only if we can get back

that summer day.


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