When It Comes

There will come a day when
you don’t have any claim on love.
When you are disqualified from its ecstasies
or from its perils.
The day you will carry up a broom
and start cleaning up the residues of heart.
Time is calling you
and you have to leave time behind.
You don’t tell anyone ‘my love’
Your lips have dried up.
You remain alone, in the dark
nothing shines, except your eyes
which is about to shut.
you remember nothing but the vague
moment you arrived from mothers womb, crying.
Now you ache to cry that cry.
You feel like sheet rolled up
or a door latched.
Things are not so hard
they are not easy either.
They are mere interventionns.


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