By Mrunal Nerkar
The first time you came to my house,
You looked at the small plant of parijaat
And said that the delicate smell reminded of your Dadi's house,
You plucked a flower and held it in the palm of your hand.
Your smile beamed brighter than the moon above us.
You used your hands so much when you talked.
All loud and bold gestures,
None of them asking for forgiveness.
The world seems a place too small to accommodate you.
And yet you cleared drawers in your bureau,
Dusted off the nooks and crannies, to accommodate me.
You took pride in the small places you occupied in my house,
Your toothbrush entwined with mine,
A bottle of your aftershave and lens solution in my dresser.
You painted the walls of my bedroom a pearly white,
And named it your personal Heaven.
But we were one of our kind, almost lovers.
Gave each other everything.
Everything except title.
Everything except the promise of forever.
Everything except love.
I ripped my veins out
Used my ribcage as needles,
And knit back your broken.
You broke your bones
And built me a home.
The parijaat of our love,
Wilted before it could bloom.
Our love was lost in incomplete chat threads,
Broken bottles of aftershave,
And nooks and crannies covered in cobwebs.
A year later,
I repaint my walls,
Throw out old bottles and toothbrushes.
The parijaat dried and died, weeks ago.
Maybe I'll bring a cactus home.
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This poem won in Instagram Weekly Contest held by @delhipoetryslam on the theme 'Breakup'
Wonderful use of the recurring theme of the flower. Really loved it.