the slow art of breathing bitter

Hanging Mid-Air

We still sit together,

laugh like hell—

fun and food.

If these smiles ever lost

in the crowd of masked faces,

We'd still float

holding hands together.

Contused is the desire to live,

Killed is the creature living a life.

And on an orange day,

the homeless bird

finds its existence hanging mid-air,

much like a chandelier

from the roof of the crematorium.

The hollow smiles behind the masks,

A soft tune ringing—

A laugh, a sudden salty wave

rushing at our pounding hearts.

.....

.....

Our lives could never be

the same as Tagore's "Boat Wreck"—

It was, is, and will always remain

A bird's song hanging mid-air.

_______________________________________

A/N: Votes can never hang mid-air, let's bring them down on Earth! :)