Old conversations-
Those crevices and sharp edges
Those crevices and sharp edges
meaningless words and small talk,
incomplete questions -
roaring oceans of emotions narrowed down to a few drops.
Wanting to let it all out-
let the ink flow and flow
till we have a beautiful portrait.
What holds back our words?
Flowers withered away before blooming.
Old conversations-
why do they hold different meanings
for each soul that reads them;
we see our faults
in the shadow of others.
Where did we lose?
Too scared- of all the world
and of ourselves; too lost.
Old letters- the ones
we started writing
but tore up and burnt away
scared of losing an imaginary future.
Each line,
each song and piece of poem
hidden under a pretentious veil of soulless words
as we stutter- what to say next,
acting out an unrehearsed scene
voices falter every now and then.
Old conversations- put them away,
leave them at their grave
because now we dance at their death,
silences stretched apart,
we celebrate their doom
because we will never know where they started
or how they ended,
so now, we smile at their sleep.
