going around in circles

the lone bangle

that dangles from my wrist

is all i have of you.

in it

the circle of life.

yours.mine.

which is but the same.

i am you.

i wonder

if i am floating in heaven

right now

and you are scribbling this

as the bangle scrapes

against the coarse paper.

once again,

the bangle.on the wrist.

does the wrist

hold the bangle?

or is it the bangle

that encompasses the wrist?

life's deepest questions

lie in this,

the lone bangle

that dangles from my wrist.

you

you are good for me.

your absence

fills the gaping holes

in my heart

and

makes me whole again.

i can breathe now.

you are good for me.

in other news

in a mounting stillness

an unlikely fluttering.

life breathes in dusty corners

cluttered with things unneeded

seeks not the nurture of love.

elsewhere,

an aged fragment of paper

retraces its reluctant steps

to its faded owner.

a forgotten reminiscence.

an old love letter.

of certain loves...

it breathes in spurts.

coughs a lot.

lies unclaimed.

occasionally identified.

its faded photo

on the ‘wanted’ board

is a blotch.

dead or alive.

same difference.

the ring stays worn

halfway through the finger.

no further,

either way.

words trail off

unwilling

to complete themselves.

silences

take turns.

stab, first.

then choke.

but just enough

so that

it breathes in spurts.

coughs a lot.

this halfway house of our love

needs to be burnt down.

a piece of the past

something stays remembered

independent of bearings

of time or context

dances on the fence

of memory and oblivion.

tangible

but unreachable

the mist of thoughts

the conundrum of senses

forgotten

yet unforgettable.

remembered

and yet 

so forgettable.

glitter

an exuberant moment dances
to the tune of forgotten love.
monochromes of life’s evenings
indelibly crimsoned.

soundproof

if life breathed
but silence

where would the 

woodpecker go?