Ehsan Obaid | + Follow Poet |
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One cold grave

They laugh, like it means something I can't find, 
They pass by me, but I'm left behind. 
I nod, I speak, I play the role,
But no one hears the quiet soul.
I remember the warmth of one perfect day,
When the sky blushed bright and clouds gave way.
We ran through streets, no care, no plan,
Your laughter loud, my heart began.
You laughed with your whole chest, eyes closed tight,
Your hair brushed with gold beneath the sunlight. 
We shared cheap wine under a tree,
And carved our names like we’d always be.
The scent of lilies, the hum of bees, 
Your hand in mine, felt heavenly. 
We kissed, a lot, but felt new with each, 
Even lovebirds paused their song to see. 
But that memory, so vivid, so dear, 
Flickered in me as you disappeared.
I held back the words you needed the most,
Left you alone, defeated, and lost.
You looked at me, eyes full, unsure, 
And I just smiled, saying nothing more.
From then, your laughter dimmed a bit,
You still held on, but your flame quit.
The nights grew long, the days more cold,
We walked side by side, but love grew old.
You’d ask me things I wouldn’t name,
I'd joke and laugh, deflecting the blame.
Until one day, the door was closed,
No angry words, no final speech.
Just silence, like the kind I gave,
A love that starved, too blind to save.
I tried to speak, but words fell flat,
The warmth of love now cold and cracked.
Now every smile feels fragile and thin,
Like leaves that fall before the wind.
I try to bloom, to feel, to trust,
But roots don’t grow in shifting dust.
I met a soul the other night,
Their voice was soft, their words felt right.
For that brief second, I was seen,
Not a shadow, but somewhere between.
I laughed, then paused, then looked away,
Afraid that I might make them stay.
Afraid that I might speak too late,
Repeat the shape of my own fate.
Maybe I've been hiding in plain sight, 
Too afraid to fight, so I let it slide. 
If I should vanish, fade or break,
Would you look back, pretend to care?
Would your heart twitch for my old name,
Or bring red wine and lilies too?
Would anyone come near my grave,
And whisper, “He was worth the save”?
Or would they pass, just faces, fast,
Like all the others from my past?
But in my chest, that memory stays, 
One golden dusk that never fades. 
The rooms I pass forget my name, 
And every door feels just the same. 
Just me, my breath, and one cold grave,
Beneath the tree, where our names remain.

Copyright © Ehsan Obaid | Year Posted 2025

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