By: Shloka Shankar 

There was a time when
Things were surreal;
I was happy. . .

As evasive as that vixen is,
I’ve been abandoned
Time and again.

From us and we, I stand as my lone self;
Something was between us –
Immeasurable vacuity and distance perhaps.

Was I at fault?
Had love fled us,
Or we, love?
It can’t be over till it really is.

A comforting thought, some might say
But I’d rather call it disillusion.
I was in an abysmal pit,
Or assumed I was.

He was shattered,
I was numb.
We didn’t exist anymore.

I ached for joy again;
I longed for love’s inanities
Anything. . .
Trifles, lovers’ quarrels, sentimentality
Sheathed by warmth and false security

Till distance rips you apart.
I had nowhere to go.
Well played, Cupid
I icily cursed in vain.

I clasped my hands and murmured
A silent prayer for the
Disenchanted us.

Curse the mind.
It made me think overmuch
And brought my life to a
Standstill yet again;

What was I to do?
Fight back and regain sanity
Or let confusion confound me?

He had the answer.
Will.
I’ll try and buy some will next time.