Through the tips of my fingers,
I let the past slip.
The grass is still green and wild,
The honey still drips.
Fog and mist have conflated,
To reveal a painting of deafness and depth.
Step into the scene they paint,
And prepare to be speechless.
To revel in the beauty of the present is hard,
When you have no sense of what lies in the past.
Not every disease is curable.
Some lost recollections are irretrievable.
To have no memory of where you belong,
Who you are,
Is far more terrifying
Than to be lost in the dark.
For where the darkness is tangible,
The light will be so too.
But the emptiness of a human brain,
Is too agonizing to undo.
A moment ago I remembered,
The sound of her voice,
The colour of her lips.
But as the nerves electrify inside of me,
The honey drips,
And I let her memory slip.
©️Megha Bhartiya, inksoakedsoul.wordpress.com
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