The Art Of Waiting...

Where Ghosts Still Lurk

Nothing just leaves
Without the residues.
Limbs cut off, leave
Phantom ones;
Itchy, scratchy ghosts of 
Those cleaved off an unsuspecting trunk.

In sleepless nights,
We feel for the ring,
In a finger crossed out in red
From a hand that long left the clasp.
Sense the sweetness of supple lips
Which no longer seek yours for a kiss.

When crows, a murder of them
Caw caw in delirious pitches
In a frantic phantom urge, still
Sneak in and nuzzle into a 
Familiar warmth, a ghost now left

Phantom limbs
Phantom pains
Nothing stays
Nothing just leaves..



Came in High On Poems on 1st may, 2015.