Search This Blog


Saturday, September 6, 2014

The Room (II)

We got curtains and latches,
And locked ourselves inside;
We played our music
And the lights were all dim and warm;
We got high in each others arms -
A high that dreams are made of,
As I sat on a stool in the corner.
Everything was perfect -
The towels neatly folded, tucked away in the closet,
The tea-cups neatly arranged above the kitchen sink,
The bed-covers laid with all the creases ironed out,
There was nothing before us, and nothing after.
Everything else was either forgiven or justified;
I was on a mountain-top,
And the valley around was beautiful -
This was the promised land
That I had trudged towards for ages,
And I could sigh in peace at the beauty of it all.

You had awoken before me I guess,
For when I woke up,
With 50 strands of grey hair and a missing tooth,
I caught you staring out the window,
With an expressionless face lost in thought,
At a swirling past you hadn't left behind,
As it's waves lashed against the window-pane,
Knocking against your head until you let them in.
They were inside - in our room,
Quietly taking everything apart.
The smile that had masked your mind was gone
And the words were now only in your head,
Outside-a stormy silence.

They came and pillaged, bombed and raided,
And by the time I was in my senses,
They had melted the pictures and stained the walls,
Made fire-wood out of the floor,
Smashed the tables and pulled down the shelves,
The kitchen sink was broken and the bookshelf on fire.
And in all the mess, you had walked out,
And all that was left was either burnt or broken -
Remains of a dream we had dreamt together,
A dream I was still dreaming alone,
And a little note by the doorknob said,
"Sorry for the mess, but I did love you truly"