The First Summer Without You – Delhi Poetry Slam

The First Summer Without You

By Tharika Prabakaran

The first summer 
you weren’t here,
the sun missed you,
so it stayed—
a little longer,
in a faint hope
you’d come back home.

The coo birds
you once fed—
they now linger
on the balustrade,
waiting for you
to soothe their feathers.
But, they fly away
after a while,
knowing you weren’t just late—
but you’d left us behind,
without a goodbye.

Your coffee mug
still sits by the sink,
dried with stains
clinging to its sides,
a ring at the bottom—
a little forgotten,
whispering something
once warm
and comforting.
Now hollow and stained,
still waiting for you,
to pour a cup
as dawn slips through.

The mirror fogs
like you breathed here
just a moment ago,
in the time the blur cleared
you were already gone—
gone forever.

We now grieve
for one last chance
for you to see yourself,
the beauty you carried.
So maybe
You wouldn’t have killed yourself.

The couch sits empty
still reaching for your shape,
a silent cry to hold you
and say—
“we won’t let you go this time.”

The blankets still echo your scent,
and the pillows would’ve gladly
caught your tears once more—
if only to understand
why you left us that night.

Instead,
we shed a tear
every night,
knowing you’re resting well,
somewhere—
just not with us.

I lay awake
late at night,
Knowing you’re gone
forever and ever.
And somewhere between
the silence and the ceiling,
I realized—

I’m not man enough
to let my mom go.
It ain’t a phase,
Not anymore,
and no—
you’re not coming back.


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