Sad Poem

Khushboo Singh

Today, I won’t look for pictures which chronicle our love.

I won’t look for books piled up in sacks of our story.
Won’t look for places either, weening us sitting right next to each other,

Window seat of a train moving amidst the green, giving our talks about love and god knows what, a companion.

I won’t think of all our endless nights and the conversations we had under the greasy sheets of that motel with an entrance adjacent to the parking lot which made me cringe at the thought of it. Also, just so you know it still does.

It amazes me how I am trying not to think of all the things that involve you but I end up doing the same.

Again and again, year after year.

Why don’t you?

Published by Khushboo Singh

I have a world of my own. I try to simplify my understanding with my writing.

9 Comments

  4. Reading your poem is like watching a habit revealing itself, from afar. It’s warm, how it talks about not doing things, albeit contradicting itself in the end. Habits are like that. Once we get used to them, no matter how much we want to leave ’em, absentmindedly we end up doing them. Maybe humans are creature of habits, and it takes one habit to leave other.

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    1. I know right? I often get this inescapable urge to think about all that has happened. I mean, I try not to think about the same but the minute I try to make myself understand this thing, I go all the way back to thinking about them.
      Thank you for reading, much love.

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