The Museum

By Anju Kumari

The love is seeing the love of my life,

The colours are painting the life of my life,

Recreating the mirage, my hymn got all silenced.

The words are not enough to tell her,

So, I got the eyes painted by the painter she loved,

The corners of the museum are well known to her.

Yet she is drowning in the tears of emotions,

All blanked, seeing her with the joy of that chandelier shining over her head,

What grasped me lies in the frame of her ecstatic beauty.

Words echoed silently when her eyes painted the whole museum to decode its meaning,

And this is how everyone witnessed the scenic serendipity,

The panoramic view of love, desire, and escapism is enough to hold the frame.

Before the day ends, she was with me,

Click, I got off the lane of wonderland,

The black frame took her back to the lavender.

Yes, her favourite flower and my only memory,

Museum of Love can never be the same; I wish the stairs could be an aisle,

It's all purple. It's all lavender.

By Anju Kumari