You lay in memory’s junk yard with
lessons kept aside for reference,
visions of people pushed in a corner,
desires decayed and other stuff.
All else is in a stupor
you’re awake with a wanderlust.
Eyes drizzle, threaten to pour
you must have made it to the heart
and scraped scabs off healing wounds.
An ache oozes and spreads its contagion
I begin to fall sick with love again.
Hope rises and trembles
like rain drops on leaf tips
I wipe it, bury you in garbage again.