​Did you notice
When only ombre silence
Greeted your hellos?
Or did you notice
When after days at end of sulking
You turned to complain again
And was met with air instead?
When was it
That you finally realized
That as the moon through its phases,
Changes into nothingness
From crescendos of Light,
The same happened in real life?

She was a different kind of moon,
Or she was not the moon itself,
You never know.
A paradox,
Predictable in her unpredictability.
The kind of moon that she was, 
She never intended to hold on to the stars.
Never claimed that the sky was hers,
(Although it truly belonged to her)
and was ready to share her home.

She was like an old metaphor,
Furnishing every poets poetry,
An untold story sealed in a few words.
So when was it
That you truly realised
That the poem you were so intent
On breaking apart,
On taking the strings of words
And stretching them until
The syllabals lost their meaning,
Was not that easy to decipher.

With her flaws, her scars,
Her battle wounds,
All she held onto as lessons,
That made her hard to fall
For uncharted,
Sombre silence.

Did you notice,
That the keeper was begone
When the monsters climbed your walls?
Or did you notice,
That the healer had left weary,
When your wounds remained open,
Untended and green?
When was it?

Honour clad in robes of truth
With bejeweled promises upon it.
She wore her words like silk
To the last shaky breath.
Always and Forever 
She had said.
Always and forever
It would be.

When was it,
That you noticed?
Oh wait! With your eyes closed still,
With shards of blindfold within
You still are unknown.
( Ah it will be a blow,
To the good’ol heart like yours)
Ah! Sweetheart,
Like the moon with its phases
She will be an eclipse soon.
And you would search for her
Among the sky,
Beyond the horizon
Failing to find her true form. 
And unlike the moon,
She won’t come back again
To light your weary nights
And reward a lost hope.

Chipping away at her heart,
Asphyxiating her attempts to renew
Hope, laughter and joy.
So you will notice
How fumbling towards the crescent,
She moves to mumble
A sad and soppy
Ode of a Goodbye.



7 thoughts on “Phases

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