Red on the Forehead 

With every shiver

There lied a cure…. 

It was your touch 

Maybe, more than much…. 

Which used to set my soul flying 

Along with the butterflies, but now I’m dying…. 

Since your untimed departure

My dear life’s curator…. 

The colors that you filled in 

Lost to white within…. 

Bangles cracked in depression 

Leaving behind a semi ellipse and separation…. 

But why is it that 

The plot exists till flat….  

12 o’clock, if being precise 

And not pessimistic, likewise…. 

That every last sight of sorrow 

Gets buried deep down in a burrow…. 

And a new world unfolds 

Which this darkness beholds…. 

Those shivers now speak 

For tremors, to unhide the peek…. 

Of someone less known 

Yet, not that unknown…. 

Maybe because that’s you 

Running away in this hazy dew…. 

Calling my name 

With same charm, no change…. 

Finally I get hold of you 

To let know how much I miss you…. 

To which, with your blood as vermilion 

You fill the rightful place, and pause the oblivion…. 

So was it a dream behind my blink 

Or reality that I chose to think…. 

Is hard to say, since the red 

Still lies on my forehead…. 

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5 thoughts on “Red on the Forehead 

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