By Ahana Roy
@ahanaroy22
On Friday evening, saturnine clouds were scattered across the sky canvas.
April offered its last relief before a relentless summer.
My monsoon heart delighted at the sudden downpour.
An unexpected gift.
Reminded me of rainy days in Kolkata and my grandmother's sing-song voice asking me to come join her in watching the skies open up for us.
We grew greedy as we watched the rainfall knowing the fragility of moments like these.
I remember telling you this story and realising it was already the second time I was repeating it.
I laughed thinking of a lifetime of testing your patience.
In the end your patience did run out didn't it?
If love was a language we were always lost in translation.
Your stubborn resistance to change.
My emotional walls that stood tall.
As our memories become clutter that fill up too much of my mind, here are the last words I leave to the grave of our love:
May we be kinder to the next people we love, may we listen more and may we love freely without constantly fearing the outcome of it all.
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This poem won in Instagram Weekly Contest held by @delhipoetryslam on the theme 'Indian Summer'
‘If love were a language we were always lost in translation’
This line❤️
‘If live were a language we were always lost in translation’
This line❤️