Your lovers come and go in December

These days,
I see people departing
Until they become a dot,
Sighing,
I put up the cup of stale tea left on the tabletop,
And walk away.

Besides,
I lose my memories a little more these days,
Tie the lace of my shoes a little loose
And watch the sky shattering down
On the walls of the abandoned house
Near my place.
Because some days,
Giving up is the only thing the universe can do.

You don't have to worry.
Neither do I.
I still watch the ceiling
And feel the blankness
Filling up my existence
And watch my lungs
Shout so quietly at me
That it almost sounds like a prayer.

The November evening,
Whirled around the tipsy wind
And flung her up in the sky.
I saw them laughing and shouting on the sidewalk,
The other day.

Neon-lights-Polaroid-photo-bullshits,
And New Year Eve, love.
My storm flies with the kite,
And flings his arms open,
Sings and shouts and cries and lies.

And I think,
It's beautiful.

Old photographs and stupid sweaters,
I was never fond of December anyway.
Now your lovers come and go back,
And look at themselves on the other side
Of the road,
Stop and ask,
"Listen,
Maa hasn't seen you for a while.
She was asking about you,
The other day.
Can you visit her, for once?"

---

Nisarga Sinha is a 19 years old amateur Indian poet. Her poems have appeared in Marías at Sampaguitas, Teen Belle Magazine, Headcanon Magazine, Crêpe & Penn, Dream Noir Magazine. She's pursuing Major in English Literature. She writes because thoughts can be suffocating and little things intrigue her. When she's not writing, she's reading fanfictions or pretending to sleep when she clearly can't. She works as a Reader for Marías at Sampaguitas. You can find her on twitter and instagram as @nisarga_sinha.