Seasons come and go,
but it's always the same for me.
Ever since you have gone:
I haven't bathed in the rays of the summer,
tasted snowflakes of the winter,
heard songs of the spring,
walked through the leaves of the autumn.
Just an endless monsoon,
in which my heart is drowning,
Meeting you was a happy accident,
knowing you was more than a blessing.
Our love was a well-written poem
in between the stars with a
of the moon
until I cursed it with a title
Now, I am a perplexed traveler
imprisoned in between
the reflections of tranquility and guilt
a baggage of death left for millennial.
Yes, I know
creating portraits of our dreadful mistakes
is not poetry,
and it's been a while since you forbade me
from the shores of your dreams
yet everything I write is
always about you.
Just in case,
you remove the curtains of constancy,
and I get another chance to breathe
in that world
I once imagined with you.