The home full of memories- of their first late-monsoon meeting;of their informal dates that ensued there-after; and of those nascent like-to-love days

Last night,

When the silence screamed loud.

‘Nuff to let the clock bespeak its voice,

Arose another competitor,

Wrestling well with the clock: the lovelorn snuffles.

She sobbed as hard as she could,

But not letting herself in there-

The ‘abandoned’ home,

Which wasn’t anymore home

Without him.


rel The Abandoned Home


Last night,

She was drawn in ‘there’ but,

Despite her labored recoil,

And despite her habitual  resistance.

She was, though.

Aw, she was, though.



She couldn’t help

But live her home again,

Sniff at her emotion-dumped home again;

The home full of memories-

Of their first late-monsoon meeting

Of their informal dates that ensued there-after

Of those nascent like-to-love days

Of the laughs that complemented each other

Of the cold nights ablaze with their love

Of their kind of stumbling dance alcohol choreographed

Of several other days and nights better felt than squiggled

Of the bygone times lived often, and only, through ‘last-nights’.


By Prerna Daga

The poem was originally published here

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