If I Die

If I die and you are alive
write me a rhyme that very night.
But pick only one of the following three
hope, courage or humanity

Or combine all of them into love
And write a poem, but only in verse
Make sure you recite it when it’s done
Memorize it and let the paper burn
Make sure you know.
who needs it –  when and where
Tell them, and bring to them
love and hope in a time of despair
And if they don’t listen,
pull them into an embrace
Whisper the ending lines softly,
just in case.
Give a look of satisfaction
to their confused face
Blink slowly once with a single nod,
And then that one smile of faith.

Witness the magic that happens next.
See someone awaken from the dead.
Hear me in their silent goodbye.
See me in them as they march ahead.

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The photograph and the cap.

 

She picked up the damped clothes
and began to bring them inside
when all of a sudden she found an olive cap kept aside.

She then searched for a picture
which was taken when she was young and pretty.
She wore a similar cap in it and looked so happy and witty.

It was her favorite among all others.
And she remembered she showed it to him.
She thought for a while about it until her eyes became dim.

She thought of how he made her,
wear another cap
and told her to click another similar snap.

She wondered if he had kept the photo
with him, all this while long
or deleted it the day he left her and was gone.

That day the photograph and the cap
were buried deep by her,
for she knew she would never be able to look at them without getting her eyes blurred.

It’s been long since then.

The rain had stopped. She spread the clothes
under the sun anew, kept the photograph aside,
wore the cap, looked up high and smiled.

 

 

 

 

Hurt.

You can’t feel,
And so you won’t know.
You have hurt me in ways you will never know.

You did what you had to do.
And went your own way.
But what about the things within me,
which were left unsaid.
They bring me hate and pain
Which I do not want inside of me.
They make me want revenge,
Which is not how I was supposed to be.
I do not want to be a monster,
And so I want you to know.
You have hurt me in ways you will never know.

The Last Glimpse

I am leaning against a tree.
He is standing against the wall.
I see him through the glass.
He is speaking to someone on call.

I try to hold my blink,
To not to miss his smile.
But the way he shines
Is enough to make me blind.

I take a final glimpse,
And store it in my mind.
One last image of his,
For a memory, I can call mine.

His Shirts.

Out of all those, I remember only a few.
Good old days reflecting memories anew.

The first – purple, light purple!
Then black, with white checks, I guess.
And brown too, bark-like-brown.

Last but not the least, sky-blue.
And then purple again,
because that’s the one in which you were mostly around.