Yearning

Your fragrance lingers

in the crumpled bed sheet.

I don’t iron it deliberately

to preserve your fragrance

in its folds.

Yes, it looks untidy.

Why don’t you come

and chide me?

The Guitar that now stands

desolated at one corner

longs to be strummed

by your fingers.

Come hold it

and make love to it.

Have you forgotten your mistress?

Your somewhat imperfect

unstructured strumming

always smelled fresh.

Those tunes implore you

to improvise them.

Why do you keep them

raw and unfinished?

And your diary

at one corner

of your book shelf

still preserves your virgin writes

in its yellowing pages.

The same diary that

you had asked me never to read.

I am still abiding by your command

When shall you permit me

to read it?

A flower vase without flowers

awaits your arrival.

The arrival that brought

with it a fresh bunch of red roses.

It longs to be adorned

exclusively by you.

Come fulfill its desire.

Remember, the harmonica

that I gifted you,

now craves to kiss your lips.

Come , breathe in it

your symphony.

And finally,

do you remember me

who has forgotten

her existence

ever since you

went for your eternal repose?

Come to make her alive!