On the nights of December,

I hide the arts

of faded hearts

under my full sleeves, pale yellow.

Love's like porcelain

in the tangled streets

of this known snowy city.

I haven't slept for decades,

I remain awake, my mind's eager

to see you again.

The unslept nights pass like this,

a single sigh, a dry tear,

a blank stare at the white ceiling.

The colors drive the thoughts crazy

when the dawn breaks through this muffled heart.

A black bird shrieks;

its kohl has got erased—

The long wings flap towards the tainted blue

of depressing poetry;

A lot of emotions have seeped through

layers of my brittle heart—

I feel nothing this time.

The scribbled notebook and your dusk pink songs—

You left them on my bedside table;

you're busy exploring someone else's galaxy.

The bird's nowhere to be seen,

it has left me as you did.

At least, I bade it a 'goodbye'

But I don't know what to call yours,

it was nothing to you as me—

a rotten petal smelling filthy, useless;

so you threw it

in the trash.

My lungs are tired of carrying this chaos,

the bottled-up emotions,

so am I of fighting with them.

Sometimes holding back is harder

than letting things go.

I want to drown

in the ink-black water of emptiness.

I want to get rid of this smoke,

I want to be weightless.

But I'm too tired now—

I'm done with them and myself,

almost DONE.