Half-written notebook

Because on the third evening
While, you sang songs out of a book
That had almost lyrics but, was still insecure
I was looking for kisses amidst half winters
And your frail fingers searched for cigarettes instead
So, when the pain went away
And the smoke cleared slowly off the dress
I wore pink, and you wore blue
And the ball flew out into the darkness
What a gall we had back then
Romance just a broken concept
Without works, without words
I could never lay beside you
And yet, I pretended to love just because I had to
Have someone who could hold me close
As the rains came down every 5th of November
But, before rains fell, you were on a cab
And the train leaving the station became the platform I was lying in
Dreaming of stars and equality and the promises
Which I had written down in quick successions
Amidst poetry that sought out the body of men

So, tell me today
Before I go out to that street
And chart a song for the masses to endure
Do you remember pink lipsticks
Or have they all become red?
And do you think black is still ghastly?
because those are the boots I am wearing
And I know you don’t sing the blues
So, I wrote you a jazz lyric
on the back of a maths copy that screams out in contempt
You wrote your number with half remaining ink oozing out
The ball point pen lies forgotten on a back seat
Somewhat of loneliness

Does the forest look as good as the grass
Before we went away?
Or is the brass
Breaking down again
I know the train runs still
And your fingers, not so frail
Are seeking out a soul
I would surrender mine
But, you would rather have a poem won’t you?


2 thoughts on “Half-written notebook

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