We did not know the study of love
and we did not have a language for it either,
but we made it to the sunrise and sunsets
through the tides of laughter
that slowly, stealthily transformed into
things that wept and bled with ease;
You wrote of the rain,
of how it felt on your parched skin
and then it mellowed the lies
you whispered in the dark;
You scribbled emotions, sympathy, apathy,
that you mistook for poetic verbs
and just like that you forgot to hold me,
as we swept tides with our feet
doing away the seaweeds
reciting sonnets of past, embalming love;
You learnt to restrict syllables, cutting away words,
dividing the air between us and
I could not just hold onto your etchings
that you'd draw on the water,
Now I drown myself in the sea of metaphors,
the only way I could survive your silent echoes.
-