One Last Drink First – Delhi Poetry Slam

One Last Drink First

By Rubab Khatra

I'll find you at the bottom of the bottle.
History is not history if it is a generational chronicle,
Promising ourselves never to be like him,
Promises often break like silence.
Wrap me in the blanket I was born in,
Emeralds to sixpence,
Succumb to the pain you have caused,
Take me back to the friends I lost;
Remind me, they are only what friends are not meant to be.
The crystal clear water recedes,
It is only my toes sinking in the sand,
Tipped flask,
The water comes again with it's foam and infinity,
Bustling death with life writhing.
I wish I could catch a reflection of what people see in me,
The reaper's web of opacity,
Caught in it's irony,
Like one hangs from a noose,
Die than face the truth.
The Sun sets with no promise of return,
Spring is over and the tables have turned,
What have you done?
What have you become?
The world owes you nothing but a shattered ego,
Let go,
Let go,
Let go,
I won't,
I'll find you at the bottom of the bottle,
Maybe I will find myself there too.


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