Ruins


Of all the songs I never wrote
only the trash remains.
Memories of a yellow room
the morning after,
A foggy winter Delhi high
a disarray of rooftops
and some garbled music;
An orange coffee cup,
A piece of sky in the mirror
that you showed off so proudly,
Portrait of a woman in progress
testimony to a truce,
Just a taxi bill remains.

Pieces of your drunken smile
on a cold, rainy night remains.
Of all the poems I did send you,
just a goodbye remains.
Nothing remains after the songs
Just a strand of grey hair, may be a cigarette bud…
A small mirror remains.

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

In Ruins

In Ruins short poem

Walking along this isolated path again, Treading heavily on those pavements once more; The Eternal Stream has had it slain. The rocks and pebbles have withered away along this shore. In ruins,are those hamlets far away. Desolated are those fields