Lyricists

By Yashika Vashisht

On this wild wet night, when everything seems bad,

How do I get over a love I never had?

Poets write when romantic love ends,

But what if it never started? What if it tamed the friends?

Not all, but some nights I live to kill and rhyme,

I write a lyric to wonder about it for a lifetime;

I wonder if someone else picks up a pen to write the perfect lyric too but hides it,

And if that ‘someone’ keeps it somewhere some place and expects me to find it.

The thought of running and hiding never left my head,

But I know now, the lyricists were long dead;

They are lying in their graves beside each other,

Reaching out, stretching their hearts to where a dusty smother.

Perhaps loving is not golden, poets make it sound that way,

Loving is dark and cruel, so they write to build a place safe enough to stay;

Indeed, it’s not safe either, water rushes in here too,

And I know it because I have another lyricist drowning with me in blue.

By Yashika Vashisht