loss in Love is
like the aftermath of a
north indian wedding.
jarring silence.
the workers, at their own
pace, run brooms across
the dirty verandah.
a bitter aftertaste remains
in the air of the disunion.
two people, uninterested,
take off the redundant fairy lights
in the morning sun
as chacha, equally uninterested,
drinks his herbal tea.
crows peck at the leftovers
strewn about on the terrace.
the people who were gossiping
yesterday are sound asleep
yet there is an uncanny
feeling of dilapidation.
lost Love, like the aftermath
of a north indian wedding,
is a feeling of emptiness
and tiredness,
with residues of what once was.
Hanzala Mojibi is a poet and writer from a literary background. He believes in some serious things like voicing the voiceless; and some non-serious things like the crunching of dead leaves healing the soul. You can find him strolling under peepals in Delhi winters.