Lovingly Deceased

By Purti Sharma

Who named it Love and not sweet poison?

One Everyone years to taste

And then trickle to death, slow

Each breath stinging, each heartbeat raging

Nothing more than an apothecary

That drives you insane

A medicine that makes it hard to think

Of anything else, but

The brown of her eyes

The fold of her lips

The peak of her nose

The wisp of her tongue

The dance of her lifeless strands

The tremble of her dying hands

All but a blade that writhes your heart

One that spring was envious of, once.

Who called it love and not an asylum of fools?

Those fall for a mortal, for the one that has an end

For you can’t live forever

Gazing at her tender face.

One agonizing day, she’ll be nothing but

The soil beneath your feet

The sky housing the stars above your head

The wind ruffling your hair

The fire unleashing in your soul

The water that tumbles down your eyes.

And you’ll be trapped in the vicious cycle of

Loving and longing

Trying to bring her back to life

In verses, in mere words, these dramatic yet hollow alphabets,

Even when you know she wears the crown of

The land of the unattainable.

So you quit trying and stare into the distance,

Emotionless, heartless, not human anymore,

Because humans are those who have will to live,

But what to call those who are living corpses, deceased by love?

By Purti Sharma