Wednesday, January 30, 2008


He holds in his heart a fiery kiss.
One that reminds him of the rain,
A silhouette that had walked past him,
A smile that stayed incomplete.

And in some corner of the country,
Bits and pieces of a memory came alive,
She clasped her tired hands together
And rubbed the scars off her mind.

The phone has been dead for years,
An empty shell covered with dust
Remained on the side board as a thought
Of all the days that had gone by.

She picked up to those pieces with care
Making sure the sides don't hurt
Folded them in an old faded letter
And dumped them on the side of the street.

He waited; there was so much to be said
Time was waiting for him, in silence,
Yet nothing came from him, not even a whisper
He was waiting for her to speak.


snigs said...

Dear, this could be my story :)

spworld said...

hmmm, a poem after long time. could be true...