Our love was an overnight bag

We never made promises

So that you never have to keep them.

We never had battles like the rest 

So no such passionate interlude ever paved

There were no edible stories, no blossomed breeze

We were in blooms within 

We had a fiction of you coming back home to me 

In tie and cufflinks 

And I had  prose of me going back to all your boundless 

caressing your inheritances 

of phobias, of fears, of nothing, 

of that little in between 

precious and sterile.

We had a surviving little nothing over dissolved and advanced

You never allowed our bodies to stain over mind

I have been safe in there, as safe

as a woman would be once hurt and in need of a haven

And I never asked you to remove our moist soil 

Unspoken, bound and betrayed within

Our love bore flowers and growth 

Each morning since then I waited for the trees adorned

and the season's been nine months 

Expecting and never pregnant

It's been so long since I have lost count of my yellow summers 

And shawl wrapped winters

They were Ruskin's seven husbands 

Loving, with rapid stubble 

But now we have our rain and betrayal

In overnight bags, packed to discretely leave rooms

Who ever said we needed spoken and shed? 

Who ever said I only believe in promises? 

Whoever said my eyelashes won't break wet when you talk of letting go.

Whoever said 

I never made you promises 

And I never have to keep them.....

Our love was an overnight bag packed to leave rooms

 

Edited by Dr Ampat Koshy