The radio played country music
morning 9. 📻
The song once melodious
Was terrifying now. 🎶
I sat on the floor
Hands on my stomach
Wanting to vomit digust
Filled with their memories.
The kitchen smelled of
freshly baked bun 🥖
And handpicked roses.
Such a beautiful world !🌹
Now the room smells of vomits
And burnt bread.
Rose petals on the floor
all around,
Scattered.
The tumbler broke
With an eerie sound
The water spilled 🫗
Intervening with the scattered fresh roses,
Trying to recollect them altogether,
Parallel with the memories;
Wiping the floor with a pink-white check cotton cloth
Collecting the roses in a moon shaped earthen bowl,
The aroma matched petrichor- smell of earth during rain.
Collecting the unwanted collection.
Like once I used to collect myself.
I failed. I failed.
I lied down
Hating the music on the hammock.🚪
The Hertz were equal to the rhythm of my heart.
As the world of ours is in constant vibration.
The frequency of the music matched my heartbeats,
It recalled and reconnected me with the memories where no network prevails.
The memory stinks,
This moment splashed all the memories,
I wanted to break the radio
I slammed it on the floor.
I broke my toe
Tripped again
And the plastic penetrated my heel.
I'm no Achilles.
Neither Medusa with hundreds of scary faces
Like the heart of my half eaten lovers.
I'm half poem
Filled with paradox
Sometimes antithesis.
I'm a complete story
With less commas
And more full stop.
The blood matches
The sprinkled roses on the floor.
The kitchen now smells of
Burnt cake
Rotten memories
Fading faces
Blood mixed with roses.
This was the moment
I realised
One doesn't need to stab someone with knife
An act,
a word is enough
To murder a lover
A lover with hopes and dreams.
Unconsciously I slept then and there,
There there
I heard the radio screaming
From other window of a nearby home
My skin shivered,
Shivered at
The eerie sound of la en vie en roses. 🥀
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