The Last Poem-(Poem)

This year’s
Last poem is
Bitter in taste,
Was the first one too.
When anger is fuming
In uncertain calligraphy,
What I scribble
With the shivering hands
Is scarlet in colour.

Meter calls me back to the
Wrinkled bedspread.
Struggles the poem
In a broken
Telephone conversation
Ended up in despair:
“I’ll…call…later”.

Chance always plays miracles!
This is for you,
This bitter poem too.
In the fading blur of memory
I hear your quivering sound.
Yet I wish to write
Apologies do not heal the gashes
But I cannot help hurting you
Because this is the year’s last poem
And you are my life’s last wound.

In the faint solos of neighbour boys
Stanzas slip out of the pen
In the dark shade of green

Lines become tenser than ever

At the end
Drink I the spill of pain
In front of a filled page

Will you forgive me tomorrow
For hating you the entire day?