The sky is ablaze with pink promises
I left my typewriter at your wooden door
My old red scarf is hanging around
It smells of innocent love and lies
My pink bouquet at your mother’s bed
We made strings of forever moments
I know your taste of Nirvana and dark rounds
My homemade epiphany made you a noble hero
You are now saintly and distant from me
Your new love loves your unforgettable smell
I am at my bedroom door still lying around
December was our best month like a best friend
Glittering dice of letters are in the fire
The snowflakes are pouring pain in my earlobe
I hope the year tastes good.
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Sayani Mukherjee
Picture Nick Victor
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