Somedays,
my lonely heart
drags me into that old familiar home,
that felt like
my only home,
years and years back.
I feel his scent
right at the doorstep
and refuses to go inside.
But the soft touch of his hands,
welcomes me inside,
just like it did,
years and years back.
The floor, still has
the dried up stain of coffee,
we probably sipped
from the same cup,
lying on the couch,
with some sweet life talks.
The wall, still has
the marks of our old photographs,
we hung with,
so much happiness,
on one lazy Sunday evening.
The bedsheets, still has
the smell of his cologne,
to which I slept every night
in comfort.
The rooms, still echo my laughter,
to one of his
poor old joke.
The mirror, still has
the reflection of me,
blushing in love
when he saw me
in saree for the first time.
But the home,
the home doesn’t hold
the warmth and essence
of our love, we shared
years & years back.
I lost him.
He lost me.
And in the process,
the home lost us
and the memories
of our old love.
Now, I stand there in solitude,
seeking for everything,
I missed in life once.
And the soft touch of his hands
leads me out,
just like it did,
years and years back.
Without a smile,
without a goodbye,
we turn to each other’s way
reluctant to look back
at the memories,
that gave us so much
to remember in a life time!
