I don't stay in people's memories,
Sad part is, they stay in mine for centuries,
He promised not to leave me and elope,
If I at least remain as a memory,I hope.
If only he would hold me for a minute,I'll believe,
I want to,so harder than anyone can conceive,
Maybe it;s all overthought and broadened,
All oaths, just an unfair means to feel important.
Memories die, I so wish mine did too,
But alas,I loved them all, now,nothing left to do,
They all go though my heart, and me in their faintest head,
And someday yet to come,I see myself painted in lead.
Too hard to comprehend anymore, too dry,
Then i'd be too weak to explain I have not died,
So they mourn me, leave me in a trance, buried,
And then i become a real memory, in the pit,I died.
YOU ARE READING
Khamoshiyaan
PoetryTHE VOICE OF SILENCE. Sometimes silence describes a situation far better than words ever will, Sometimes a strange set of words describe paints it years later; The limits are set and broken by the words , The reticence ,muteness and reserve let out...
