LOVE, MAYBE

The grass imbued stains of our dear days;
whilst we lay together through this lonesome night,

I held on to the collar of his white cotton shirt,

toying the ends of it,

we talked endlessly into those stars that bore our heavenly bodies

To momentary happiness that lies within;

we all know it somehow

we guile ourselves to reach this end

we stray amidst the same

don’t you ever learn, love?

And there was I,

pledging us our tales of vow

that never stay the same

I knew—the guilt tricked us each time,

for every good has an end too.

– Shweta Kher