From the day I nested in you
with twigs sturdier than
all pillars the world offers,
I knew it'd take more of me
Wings of time flapped past leaving
memories of golden straws harvesting
comfort through the summer, and warmth
through winter, some time,
the autumn leaves lent a different colour,
the green of spring lustrous.
I was happy I knew, my future was
with you, yet you didn't see my vulnerability,
the peril of losing all with you.
So sudden you were gone numbed was I,
unaccustomed to the unroofed sky, waking dazed,
I said: Take me! Yet like a sparrow it darted
alone, brave and ready, had a world to see.
For you had changed, this I knew
before you were gone, or was it me?
Doesn't matter either way if
you've moved on.
As I've moved on.
P.S.: I don't know why, but suddenly I fell through this trapdoor, the thin line between prose and poetry. Yet I don't wish to let up in my struggle. There is always a thing called prose poetry. And I hate to admit that all along I wasn't writing poetry.