Before I write about coffee stains and ink splashes on white sheets
And fireplace snuggles in your favorite pajamas
I want you to know that you were the muse
That started this endless eulogy
Your heart was caught in a forest fire in the middle of December
I came in like the stream of water
When she lit you on fire
I became the ink on your love letters to her
Staining the back of your books until you found the perfect words
I became the tiny scrape on your knee
When you bent down with the rose to ask her out

Today, while you’re off with another girl in your arms. She sits across the table with someone else to celebrate Christmas. Champagne in hand and a clink of glass!
New Year knocks on the door hoping to be a rise for some and a fall for others. You miss the spilled coffee and ink on your sheets. Another woman in front of the fireplace promises to rescue your heart from the fire but she doesn’t know the path to the water stream. You hurry towards parchment in order to stop the suffocation of your heart because the walls are closing in and you have no time at all. Your new pen does not know the crimson ink with which you write love letters or pain. Words were never enough or perfect when it came to your thoughts.
You’re longing for the butterfly in your pit when you scraped your knee for her and I bandaged it for you but the truth is, here you lay wounded with nobody to see you broken because to them? You’re a fine young man. You’re a man with charm and who is on his way to glory.
I became a small part in your life- a pen, a paper and a comfort zone that you left behind in order to pursue greater and better things.
Every passing day reminds you of how I faded away and every night you try to recollect the memories of us under the pale winter moonlight.
Oh! How I wish we would celebrate like we did before when youth gleamed in our eyes and the world was in our feet.


About Bano

I’m trying to find a better introduction but since, I can’t? Hi! I’m an ordinary person and I write. I write not because there lies aspiration to be a writer someday but because, it keeps me sane. I love the color silver, black and grey. I also realize that they fall under the same color tone. Whatever, I write is a result of my 3 a.m blues or insomniac depressive tendencies. I can’t write during the day. I’m addicted to caffeine and well, anything and everything (if I like it). Also, I suck at conversations. I bite my nails. Most of the time I’m clueless about the world around me. I love politics and youth activism. People tell me that art and politics don’t belong in the same mind, but I’m passionate about both. One day I might be drawing on a canvas or writing a story and the very next day I will be heading off to attend a summit on the role of youth at the United Nations. I have multiple people trapped in the same body. Each side does try to express itself, in minimal ways if not fully. I’m currently going through a rough patch in life. I guess, I’m adjusting to the world through multiple perceptions. I absolutely love talking to myself because an expert opinion is always required. Most of the time, I just play scenarios in my mind that would never happen. I’m very contradictory in my thought process and actions but it is okay, people get to be what they want to be as long as no other soul is hurt. Peace out!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s