On a Sunday Morning

On a Sunday morning,
the removing curtains;
greeted with the 10’am’s Sun
and a cup of coffee…
A bright reflection from the
touched my eyes
and reached the heart:
Like the strings of a
Dusty Violin;
accidently get a touch!
A window opened
in the damp burial
of my heart,
The shards of the broken
reflected his face;
some shining
and others shimmering,
his smile
his eyes
his fair face…
“A shiver runs
down my spine”.
How tough it was,
to dig the burial
install the window
locks it numb
and darken the damp;

This single moment
crude and brutal;
lightened the damp
and ignited the Soul.
His face;
here it shimmers
to the blink of
my eyes;
Shards stir
my slumbered emotions;
dead butterflies
buried in ribs
rose to the rayed shimmer.
In the moments of
his vast Nothingness
grips hold of me;
Soul-cuffed I am
by the chains of love…
how harsh you are!
Your prevalence is
only truth in prevalence
I Miss Him
he who; never
was mine..

~Mehak Dhaar

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