October knows my fatigue, where once amidst the candle glow, I had read Dante’s Inferno and,maybe a poem or two by Poe.
How I walk that lonely aisle again, its dark sides desiring to devour me. This season of parting birds, longer nights and bloated pumpkins, this season of life failing and leaves falling, this season aches my heart.
Gazing at the crimson sunset, I recline in the discomfort of my thoughts, that play like an old song stuck in my head.
Sorrow with its outstretched arms tip toes towards me, crawls up my cold feet, tired legs and hides in my aching chest.
The cold breeze through the pines whispers a monodic rhyme, and you come to me faceless, inodorous, voiceless. Do you look like those hazy pictures you share? Do you smell of floral hues or of aqua blues? What do you like? What do you dream? Do you think we’d ever meet? And where?
The night spreads on my balcony, slouching on my creaking rock chair, I open my eyes and I reek of the piled up uncertainties. I sit up and feel a pair of soft hands at the back, detangling my curly locks, pressing my shoulders, kissing the back of my head. “Were those hands yours?” Walking without an answer, I assume they were yours.
I open the door to a hopeless room and a hapless life. As I enter and shut the door behind, I affirm, “ Those were your hands, yes yours!”
And I feel them around me, clutching me tight, undressing me, walking me towards the hot shower, holding my chin up, showing me the vapouring sorrow, the burden off my chest, stroking my wet head, kissing my moist lips, and faceless, voiceless, Inodorous, vanishing in thin air.