The House
The petals are dry.
And the house, right in front of me.
My lungs come to a halt and the air churns,
about to choke me and make them burst;
my legs pretend to be strong, but they long to flee.
She remains the same… or so I wish to believe.
Nostalgia has furrowed the walls.
My pupils dilate as I observe the timber:
it is more aged than I.
I must admit her door never denied me entry,
yet now she looks as if my presence does not matter.
Lifeless vestiges of an echoless yesterday.
The absence of the magnolias is felt,
an absence of scents that are no longer there.
ঢাকা
১১:১৯ পূর্বাহ্ন, মঙ্গলবার, ১৪ এপ্রিল ২০২৬, ১ বৈশাখ ১৪৩৩ বঙ্গাব্দ
শিরোনাম :
Laskiaf Amortegui
-
- আপ : ০৮:৩৫:৩৪ অপরাহ্ন, বৃহস্পতিবার, ১৯ মার্চ ২০২৬
- ১৪২ ভিউ :
