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The end of the road

Photo by niklas_hamann on Unsplash

Here we are:

At the end of the road.

It was stone-paved and surrounded by nature,

The journey

soaked in laughter, dried by tears,

Held together our stories and fears —

Till this moment arrived.

Photo by Lucija Ros on Unsplash

When I turn around at my door,

I will see your back

Fading at a distance, only

to disappear

from my conversations, memories and media

It was kind of you to walk with me till here,

You didn’t have to

(Not like I have walked with you everywhere

Without expectations)

It is the end of the road for desire, friendship, gossip

coffee, and exchange,

The backdrop of distant trees framed.

There are devices, but we won’t be the same, ever again

The seasons we shared will not come to life, ever again

Our memories will fade, just like the pain.

I’d rather you stay, yet know well that you won’t, can’t

And honestly, don’t want to.

And there we have died and have become new beings

this moment. Refrain

from the pleasantries and the Archies wishes and feelings of a season finale

We’ll hug and part ways, never to be the same.

But you came with me till the end of this road, so that

to someone else I would do the same, only to part again,

to an unacknowledged cold wind that will lash

the remains of our shared terrain.

Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash

Let us bid farewell silently,

For only silence can carry this moment

without betrayal, with honesty

Many have spoiled these moments with eloquence, emotions and tears.

Our radiant images will remain a dying flicker,

Our words will turn softer,

we will discover new pain

Our burdens will seem lighter and

we will soon have nothing to say

Yet we will be tempted to feel there is more to this nothingness

we were always preparing for,

even before we met.

You will appear again, once in a blue moon

The unsaid will be heard again,

the unframed frowns and glances

and the stray words will sound again,

leaving a mysterious Why,

which will never be right to ask about, ever again

May be it was then, but not now.

You will be heard again, when I wash the sink,

Or stand in queue, or wake up or alight from the train,

or when that song is played somewhere, again.

It is the end of the road, let us

blow out the candle, before

it struggles to keep itself burning.

It is the end of the road,

The very end. Isn’t it?

Photo by David Tomaseti on Unsplash




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