My pallu was pleated ,
By measuring my despair.
The mathapatti on my forehead ,
Caressed my creases,
Like his forehead kisses did.
The veil covered
my tearstricken face.
My tongue fumbled upon
Several emotions,
Only to mumble قبول ہے
One last ounce of tear rolled down my cheeks ,
His name was pulled into one of the chambers of heart ,
If someone ripped it Outta my ribcage it'd look like a cloth with several stitches.
YOU ARE READING
Gravestones of survival.
Poetry~People often misunderstand my gravestones of survivals into piece of art.~ Random pieces of poetry.
