by: Tisha Choudhari
The end has eyes
that glint during the holidays
that hide in the tangle of lighting
eyes woven in the fabric of my iridescent dress
The end, it is forgotten
in times like these
it's forgotten like the cold
in the thrill of colorless winter days
painted in lurid shades by us.
Despite this epilogue
We stare, starry-eyed, at the beginning
Suspense, what will this new time bring?
It was given a rather dazzling welcome, thus wouldn't it be fair if it were dazzling too?
The end is forgotten:
stripped of lights;
shut away in some darkened corner of our mind's corridor;
shut away, along with the lessons learnt, the battles fought.
The walls are scrubbed clean
to be adorned and wrecked by what is to come.
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