How I Met My Metaphors by Bidisha P. Kashyap
I promised my lover,
that some day I will write
a poem about him
(never really knowing why)
And after three long years
and a handful of second chances
I realised that for maybe some,
poetry bloom from the deepest form of regret
of letting go, of moving on
and of falling in love.
Some nights I hiss at my choice of words
choking upon the bitter memories
that each metaphor holds,
I apologise to my mother
saying art is not something she should seek from me,
while she replies casting her tender smile
“Trap your pain, my love,
before it starts to consume you.”
My heartbreaks wear faces that feel like home;
owning my metaphors,
abandoning my memories
and I like a shameless lover
not ready to accept my ends,
I write.
In fear, in happiness, in sorrow, in agony;
I write.
I write till my lungs run out of air,
I write till veins run dry
I write till every sunset taste bitter
I write till my summers start to wither;
For I should trap my pain
before it consumes me
As a writer always falls a little too hard
for faces who are never worth wasting poetry on.
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