The Bequeathed Aisle
A vivid picture of his dark past, breathes into life. Loitering in the grey foliage of the dim street lamp, He, often takes a scuba dive into the chasm of thoughts. Always to be in the menu platter of a lucky handful, Is love so costly to afford for a commoner, inclusive of if’s and but’s? The thorns which drape the rose stem materialize as pricks of poison, Fail to numb the half-choked windpipe, freezing the air within. Guilt and Grief, cross swords to murder the conscience. The remnants shred as tears, which refuse to be coaxed out, dyed with sin. She, remains oblivious in her own world, without a pinch of regret, Stabbing with arrows of ignorance at will. Hers is a distant memory today, he comprehends. Annihilated and torn apart, the fabric of her memories, no longer kill. Life takes a drastic turn, as smog lifts revealing the moon. His eyes, transverse through the long path of eighteen years, Contemplating the turn of events, a smile settles do...