If Only Goodbyes Were Short

When I am not,
Picking out words,
I’ve sometimes felt my heart,
Swell and push against my gall,
But then,
Aren’t we supposed to be,
A sanctum of all things holy?
The pulse that feeds the idol beneath?
Parchments or prescriptions,
Whatever you may call them,
May replace a faith in tatters,
But then where is denial when you need it?

Almost fittingly,
Conflicting trepidations of hope,
They are abandoning me,
My friends are a memory,
Seldom thinking to myself,
“Are we done yet?”,
But the wound is only growing steeper,
Not deeper,
The tears are gushing out red,
It’s all rather turning out fine,
For a first time,
Hesitation is a coward strife,
So it’s all rather turning out fine,
For a first time.

Abhingam Majumdar

I am a person of few interests. Either aloof to my surroundings or going absolutely nuts. My inventory of bad jokes and adages is perhaps only matched by Sidhu Paaji. Love football, been a Gooner since 2007. My life revolves around the aforementioned stuff and lots of metal and I do happen to write poetry as well, so yeah. That's pretty much it, I guess.

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