An Evening

By Deepali Singla

The evening hues have become my favorite;

I drink them slowly,

then wander into a sky of poetry.

A star in front of my eyes

catches my gaze—

the fountain beside me sings

a soft symphony

for a beautiful background image.

My fingers don’t know how to stop,

how to let this moment drift by

without turning it into a conscious thought

and without remembering you,

your eyes,

and of course, your lies.

The first lie you told

was about the box of sadness—

you called it a well,

and said once I drowned,

I’d never find home.

You never mentioned that after I sank,

I’d learn to make my home

everywhere I go.

The second lie was about love.

You warned me not to fall,

said it hurts to be empty

in the echoing hall.

But you didn't tell—

love doesn’t just make you fall,

it makes you rise,

higher than you ever were before.

The final lie was about life.

You claimed it was a river

flowing toward helplessness.

But now, look deeper into this poem—

can you spot my tears of happiness?

By Deepali Singla