September the Tenth.
All good things end with September the tenth,
Memories like falling leaves, forever bereft.
The wind, a silent lament, whispers secrets,
Of a time when hope still burned bright as the noon sun.
Now, the trees are bare, as if weeping for what's past,
The final pages of a book, turned to the last.
But in every ending, a new beginning's birth,
As autumn gives way to winter's silent berth.
Indeed, dear winter's cold embrace,
The beauty of its crystal-frosted lace,
The snow-tipped trees, a silent stand,
Their branches, a dance, in the moonlit land.
Frost's kiss on window panes,
Like tiny diamonds in the icy plains.
September tenth, the weeping skies,
The rain, a harbinger of tears, no lies.
A prelude to grief, an inevitable song,
That mirrors the pain locked deep within.
The drops hit the window, a saddening drum,
A rhythm that matches the beating heart's hum.
As the rain whispers of sorrow's embrace,
It foreshadows the teardrops that will grace my face.
His abrupt departure, words unsaid,
Leaving me in a silence so dread.
No explanation, no closure in sight,
I'm left to wonder, my heart in flight.
September the tenth, a cursed decree,
No matter how much I plead and plead.
Once again, the cycle repeats,
As the old ones depart, leaving me bereft.
I should be used to the constant goodbyes,
But this time, without a word, it stings deep from inside.
September tenth, a paradoxical night.
My birthday, yet a countdown, it feels so fright.
To most, it's a fresh start, a promising light,
But to me, a deadline, a silent plight.
As the clock strikes midnight, a dreaded chime,
I know the joyful days are at an end, in the time.
The cycle begins anew, with pain as my guide,
For every September tenth, a part of me dies.
Love,
Sanskriti.
I closed the diary with a gentle, whispered breath. The silence that followed enveloped the room like a cloak, the only companion the soft ticking of the clock.
The last line, the last word, the last moment of September the tenth - all vanished into history, just as autumn fades into winter.
"Sanskriti," I murmured to no-one but myself. "Whom did you lose this time?"
YOU ARE READING
Nasaza
Teen Fiction"I will never stop searching for you, my dearest nemesis. I will find you. And when I do, I will break you, and leave you shattered beyond recognition. You will always be mine to decode, and I'll cherish every moment of it." Aadesh Malhotra craves s...
