The Poet

“Where have you been?”

Terrace.”

“That again?”

“Yes, there’s no other place safer than the terrace. Brings out the best in me.”

“You remember? how to make a good conversation.”

I sat there holding my phone in one hand and the pen in another. It was already sunset and I was waiting for an inspiration to write.

I wasn’t drunk anymore, I was waiting for something else. Being sober was better than being drunk. I unlocked the phone scrolled through contacts and my eyes stuck on a familiar name, a familiar face. My fingers moved instantly and I felt extremely difficult to remove focus from her picture.

But it wasn’t same anymore..

The pain I feel

is gone,

The message I had 

is gone,

The key to myself

is gone,

So is my muse

and so is my

poem..

Searching for the lines, I looked again. This time for messages; old ones with a hint of pain.

Although I had an ulterior motive; to let her voice ring in my head again, to live through the messages, through the moments of silence and the moments of just noise.

And I didn’t 

find anything,

no pain,

no regret, 

no remorse,

nothing to

write about,

nobody to 

write for.

“Oh, not again.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me the lonely crap. ”

” Not lonely, Alone!”

” Yeah, whatever.”

” Did you like the last poem?”

” No.”

” Really? Was it bad?” Took me a second to register the negative response because of the usual positive ones.

“Yes. Because it wasn’t true.”

“What do you mean?” Fully aware of what she meant.

The pain isn’t true.”
Oh, I remember the songs, she used to sing with her lovely voice, surely my pain will return, my muse will return; or so as I thought.

yet the silence

envelops that

piece of paper,

while the pen 

waits for the 

blood to flow 

as words, torn 

between two worlds

of chaos.

” Oh, you know.. I’m getting married.”

“Congratulations..” I said or rather choked.

Ah,  here you

are. Pain.

Hiding in plain 

sight as words

left to say, words

left to hear, words

meant to be just

words; words meant to 

be unheard.

“Terrace?”

“Yeah.”

“Use truth.” I sat there, numb, reading the message. I walked towards the edge looked over those lights, that noise, that rush and chuckled. I sat on the edge, heard the silence amidst the chaos.

Watching the darkness as the blood flowed into my ink. Staring the oblivion as my ink, made a poem.

Being someone who

 didn’t speak his mind

waiting hopelessly

for a sign..

I fell quiet…

Since I knew her

 answer;

to each poem 

of mine..

to each rhyme

of mine..

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14 thoughts on “The Poet

  1. Hey Vinay! You’re one of the winners of the Blogoquent Competition! So I’ll have to write something about you..so please give a brief introduction of yourself here in the reply, which I will copy and paste in the post! And please try and do it fast! I’ll have to post it today itself! 😀

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you so much!! I’m glad I received the award; a new feeling for me 🙂
      And now it’s the moment when I don’t have anything nice to say 😐
      I’m a usual guy who likes to read stories. I’m a student who vent out via this blog; writing and finding stories in the crowd. I write pieces of non-fiction in my fictional characters. 😉
      I’m a person who likes making friends, on a hunt for new stories and capturing different worlds into this one of mine 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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