No, I don't want to write
About love, longing, her silence, our fight
I don't want to write
I won't say that I'm sad coz we're far apart
It won't matter one bit, I know in my heart
She may be sleeping right now
With her head resting on his chest
While I'm awake like an idiot
With senseless thoughts, one after next
What did she wear today, blue or red
Was it a saree, a skirt, a Jean or a dress
Were her hair tied in a bun
Did she sport a pony
Was it the day for the plait
Or she had her long hair cut
I think of her kajal suddenly
And of her bangles
Her tiny black bindi
And the last seen curls
I remember her smile
Reaching those doe eyes
Her playful banter with me
Not so innocent lies
The feel of her fingers in my hand
The smell of her hair
What I won't give to hug her
Once more without care
But I silence further memories
Of when she had left
Handling the years of agony
In which I wasn't deft
So, there won't be a poem
I'm done with that plight
Not about love, or longing, neither silence nor fight
No, I just don't want to write
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