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Twenty Five

it had been years since i set my eyes upon the past,

i watched as my fingers flipped through its forgott

en pages,

now tattered and torn from the edges

the lady on the hardcover had deformed,

the consequence of time, i suppose

i traced the horrendous handwriting, laughing

at my pathetic diary entries and sad attempts at poetry

i looked at my naïve self, smiling and wondering if she’d ever imagined me

being here today

hastily, i willed my fingers to find

the first page,

the first flower

from the first lover, my heart had ever known.

the rose, faded and lifeless still

rested on the front page, broken and withering

i jumped back to the afternoon of 25th january, 2016.

he knelt in front of me,

my knees at level with his nose,

little had i known that my fantasy was metamorphosing into reality

with the vermilion rose, in one hand

he bestowed his heart

into my sole custody, eternally.

twenty-five beats later, my restless tongue

betrayed my shaking head: “yes, my jaan[1]!”


i close my book shut, and jog back to reality

for he has arrived to begin our dinner,

stealing my sanity.


[1]Jaan - Urdu word, means “soul/life/mind/vigor/sweetheart/beloved”

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