Puppets of a poet

By Pakhee

Today, the clouds are grey.

Your eyes were too.

I cook night’s food,

Singing in a good mood.

Our gest will arrive soon,

I’ve been waiting for him since afternoon.

We dance with lovely skies,

But I always see fright in your stormy eyes.

You loved me, even with the monster in me. Students of 18, placing rings of marriage with tears. with promises of breathing the same air of cheer and fear. I still remember the spring of that year.

Your pale skin dries as the frost arrives.

I write stories of our love on your hand with knives. Your comfort with the purple pain,

Painted all over your skin.

The lilies were your favourite flowers

You break the purple petals in the delusion of power. Love too bloomed in our garden of life.

Maybe, you shared the same pain,

Crying as the singing rain.

Our love might be the uglier side of beauty;

But we too, were puppets of poets.

We were still young,

Unknown of what we had done.

You talk to some guy,

And we fight under the night sky.

You kissed the guy, I didn’t like.

You just cry and cry,

And I still tell you I love you why.

My voice never cuts through your howling rage. The beast in me gets uncaged.

I write about our love, with knife on your neck. You suddenly breath nothing and your body turns purple. I sit and smile,

I sounded wild.

It’s the happiness that never released,

To cut someone in so many pieces.

The arms I held, are not part of the body I kissed.

Your muscles melt in the cooking pot.

I smell your burning lips.

I used your recipe, as I mix.

I sing and dance, waiting for my guest.

Waiting to see the guy you kissed, impressed.

By Pakhee