The Last Mail

By Arpit Pokharna

The storm that brew in the house last night, was silenced in the whistles of the last mail

Her tears, like a stream gushed out of the years of silenced silences

He could see them dropping on the marble, albeit through stolen glances

Distances between them shrieked their way into the room, where they were but two

Either could hardly feel the others presence, numbness ran through

Their shadows on the curtains painted a petty picture

The bed sheet aped the wrinkles on her face

The tea pot, long out of steam, much like their companionship

The tilted wall clock, it seemed, had forgotten its pace

She wanted answers, but she didn’t ask

Promises for her were a thing of the past

He didn’t say a word, he thought she might

The noise in the house was deafening last night

The storm that brew in the house last night, was silenced in the whistles of the last mail..

By Arpit Pokharna