A day after Diwali

The remains of fireworks scattered on my rooftop and some empty glass bottles with burnt necks which are now charcoal black in color, like your black and long untied hair dispersed through your face-which hardly allowed me to look directly into your gloomy eyes. And the red pieces of paper,like fragments of your memories remain in my diary.

         
                   The diya in my verandah doesn't have oil in it anymore. A thread which is burnt now. And all that is left behind a skinny black thread almost like the locks of your hair.It is fragile now.It breaks as soon as i move my finger towards it.
           
                   The candles, that were isolating the darkness last night,turned into a thick layer of wax and stuck to the tiles in the courtyard, like your crazy laughs-which then solved all my problems, still adhered to my heart and flashing it every night in front of my eyes. And there is a dog barking under the tree in my garden,maybe he also misses someone.

             The sky is partially filled with clouds, and radiating a silvery glow appearance, possibly due to first crescent moon, a night after amavasya(new moon), reminded me how you walked in my life and you gratuitously pulled me out of those dark trenches where i had lost the reason to smile; your persona carried a certain charm, silvery glow that gravitates my heart towards light and made it worth living.

             The quietness after a Diwali-night startles me,at times, what happens to all the lightning,all the crackers breaking my eardrums, and then, it is just quiet. And in the middle of the night. I can almost hear the whispering of the syllables coming out from your mouth saying a goodbye.

              You are like the day after Diwali in more ways then i can possibly imagine, the wave of happiness which comes and touches me with the sweetness and disappears before i even know. And all that remains is an empty bottle with a burnt neck. I stay up,counting days and sometimes month,at a stretch, and i let out a faint smile, even though it is just for the night, you come,without fail. The void you leave in my body,takes a year to heal,but then you come back again.

             Why won't i write about you, my love, when you're the one who taught me about metaphors and rhetoric. You are the one who taught me that map's don't always guide us home,and that some addresses are remembered to be forgotten someday. How everything i think about connects to you and yet how disconnected we are right now. How you were never only a friend,my love, and yet i could never call you mine.

                                 To the one who was almost mine,maybe?