Somebody will find you
Sitting by the window,
Pen at hand,
Writing your secrets;
Tears in your cheeks,
Falling like the raindrops
Etching the blur
In the glass beside you,
Showing glimpses
Of the storm outside:
Trees screaming for help,
Restless winds howling,
Knocking at the window,
Begging you to let them in,
Envious of the warmth
Like moths beguiled
By the seduction
Of dancing flames
Mimicked by the way
Your hair defies gravity
Like a fiction written
By the winds
Of an electric fan
Sitting with you
Trying it’s best
To dry your tears,
To dry your ink,
Preventing you from writing
“I want to die”;
Because it doesn’t know
Someone will find you
When he finds himself
Wandering in places
He used to call home,
For all the warmth
Which touched his heart
Before he burned
With obsession
And turned to ashes
For his funeral
A week before
You sit here
Regretting
Confessing
Cuffing your wrists once again
Like a prisoner of love
Waiting for a ghost
To set you free
And escape with him
In afterlife.
