By Feby Joseph
So, it seemed, forgiveness wasn’t the answer –
Doling out redemption hadn’t taken out the sting …
I looked out of my winter-room window
At the sea, washing itself and felt –
… Almost calm.
It has been a season of storms
And some hidden storms
The restoration manual required forgiveness
… to heal (it said); but a casual reminder of you
And I was bleeding again.
The axe scars had dried but they had dug deep
Laid awake –
In dormant semi-viscous rivulets.
It was as though time hadn’t passed
So, I decided to take my winter
And spend it in this room overlooking the sea.
To caress my scars.
Away from their constant chants of growth
Didn’t they know, it wasn’t happiness I was looking for.
I craved the silence of forgotten yesterdays –
Of footsteps that didn’t echo the roads.
So, I boxed my winter in this ocean room
Listening to the sea –
Listening to footsteps recede with each silver sun…
… till all that remained on the skin were rusted
Brown patches –
which fell off by accident, yesterday.