I wonder why my footsteps
Lead me to your door still,
A place I’m no longer welcome,
No more than I belong—
You aren’t home anymore,
I couldn’t come back if I wanted to;
But the peonies on your porch still thrive,
The ones we picked out in white—
And I wonder if you think about me too,
The way I reminisce you.
I wonder why that voice of yours
Echoes in my memory still,
Singing that song I couldn’t erase;
I couldn’t bring myself to part from you,
You left bits and pieces behind,
Would it be terribly selfish to hide?
All by myself and falling apart,
Watching as you slowly fade away,
Your smile that I no longer recall,
And your laughter that I once cherished.
I wonder whether you wander, too,
Your feet bringing you to my door;
You carry pieces of me as I did yours,
Is it terrible of us to want more?
The peonies I left may wither away,
And perhaps your pieces will someday fade,
So, when the time finally comes,
And we have to say goodbye,
To all that we held on to,
But never once did try
I’ll always wonder what it could’ve been,
Until there’s nothing left to see,
Any hopes we had were broken,
So were our possibilities;
Left with that weather-worn tree
That we once carved our names into,
So wide-eyed and naive,
For who could have ever seen us thus,
So torn apart and hurting?
Who could tell we’d fall to reality?
~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.
I really wanted to write something good today, and I came up with this poem. I wanted to write something that could tell a story, and I just let the poem run its course and take me wherever it went. There is something very interesting about letting a poem write itself because, somewhere, deep down, it does come from a place where we’re still trying to come to terms with things that we cannot really talk about. I think it turned out pretty well. I hope you like it too.
The Shubhster. Xx