Days have passed in silence
I sit down in a room
Counting and waiting for you
Blue walls garnished with tiny yellow flowers
Gave my eyes the impression of ignorance and perfection at the same time
To me it was "Art"
Nearly as a Van Gogh painting but not as beautiful than I thought
The window opened and made no sound
It was a hiss
It was quiet
I sit on that red window sill
I mulled, "its crimson paint would hide my blood"
And if it shines due to the sun beams every morning
I won't be mad or sad.
Because,
I will be waiting
And I'm still waiting
And if You ever decided to come
My door would be ajar for you,
But please hurry
This room is starting to shrink
And its walls are turning black
And so its flowers
They have shriveled
Just like me.
This room was beautiful..
but now
It's ugly
Dark and mildewed
But I hope you're still beautiful too
By the time we reunite again
I will be charged with arson
And There will be no tryst for us
because,
This room is no longer pillared but forsaken.
YOU ARE READING
Flowers From The Old Tree
Poetry'I open my eyes more often to see beautiful things in ugly things because nowadays no one is appreciating the beauty in the ugliness.' This collection of poems is a pile of papers that were lost and mostly ripped off, i could really relate to the...
