Scarlet Roses
"But when you showed me what happiness looked like, I shook harder, sobbed, wailed and bawled; tore at your clothes, your perfect, perfect face, and said, "This could never be mine."" - the poet.
It seems that it was just yesterday
when we lay on your bed, sides sticking to aged sheets
just looking at each other, gentle impermanence
when I inhaled sunlight and the sweet ignorance of childhood
and you exhaled life and the ache of passed years
you entertained my cheating in petty games
and I muffled the warnings that befell my way
deep down, I knew the end was near
they brought you in an ambulance in a journey dubbed arduous
we all got turns glimpsing your face
pale lips and a still visage
waxy skin and sunken cheeks
but all I could see were
glinty eyes crinkled at the edges
carefree smiles, dented dimples
it was then I knew the end was here
You planted roses in a barren garden
and I clutched the peppercorn railing of your window,
we recounted tales of obsidian nightingales and lantern fireflies
from their humanity, their solicitude,
you learned no lesson, you learned no lesson
so I tore away from the dying throng
my love turned crystal tears
they just couldn't fall, wouldn't dare
to my right, there they were
peaking above ebony stems and olive leaves-
scarlet blossoms at their zenith
before I knew it, I was at their side
wrenching my share from the picturesque panorama
even if the world was dark,
the petals sodded my hands with wet morning dew
one for every scar you gave
I lay them all over your corpse
only fair, it's only fair
that you reap what you sowed, that I reap what I sowed
yes, I ran after vivid lights
red and blue and a piercing siren
threw caution to the wind
just the gravel road beneath my feet
and the cruel machine that didn't know what it shouldered
that swerved right
and left our street
sometimes, I lock myself in your room
the faded covers still smell like you
the blinds turn jade and the paint vancouver blue
the sun is warm, but the shadows are black-
your favorite color
I curl into myself and exhale you in pain
the piece of me you carried with you
weeps with every hopeless call
mourning its rightful place in my chest
now grief, with its sanguine hues,
blooms in that garden, desolate once more
I cry in the arms of the one you hurt
and it isn't fair, it isn't fair
that you went too late, left so soon
it's so unfair, it's so unfair
that you broke too many hearts
not just mine.
Copyright © Hiba Junaid | Year Posted 2024
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