Vines.

Heal me,
Let the scars still show,
Cracks from a memory
Pieces lost long ago,
Seasons have changed,
The world has turned around,
Wounds now bandaged
By the feeble vines that have grown.

Let me blossom,
These roots still run deep,
Vines and veins intertwined
As though a part of me,
Inseparable,
They hurt and bleed,
So let the vines grow over,
And let the flowers cover me.

Hide me away,
I’ve been broken before,
Shattered as I lay
Weeping on the floor,
Leaves all withered,
Petals fading to grey,
Save for that little vine
I held onto until this day.

Write to me,
In letters you never sent,
In words you could never find,
In hopes that came to an end.
Left in the dust,
Faded ink over those lines,
The yellow of old paper,
The green of tender, new vines.

Leave me,
As I find a way to thrive
After all that I have suffered,
After all the tears I have cried,
Let my casket be overrun
With wild, beautiful vines—
A reminder of who I used to be,
A reminder of much simpler times.

Mourn me,
Bury my dead memories
In that empty grave of promises
That never came to be,
Leave me peonies,
Leave me your goodbyes,
Perhaps the grave shall say
“Here’s where dead love lies.”

~© Shubhangi Srinivasan.


One of the many things that I love about being a writer is that inspiration can strike at any moment and it could be at the most ordinary of moments, too! This is something I was thinking about as I worked on a painting and the imagery in my head was all over the place, so I decided to write this down because I was curious to see where it could go. I’m really proud of what I’ve come up with today because I haven’t written something as good in a long time now. I hope you guys like reading it, too!
Yours truly,

The Shubhster. Xx


Featured Image by Andrew Scherle on Unsplash

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