Untitled | Kumar Harsh

Now,
that you are gone.
I lie down
on the same bedsheet and pillows
They bear your smell
Every breath I take
is a reminder.
The mail through the iron bars,
I can’t remember,
the day the envelope
screeched on the unkempt floor.
The letter
bore the same smell
even stronger than i had preserved.
Intoxicated,
I read.
It said
You had gone some place sunny,
while my curtains
have been covering the glasses
since we parted.
Outside,
it is raining.
Your letter slips,
escaping under the shelves.
I know,
I will retrieve it.
I will search for you
in that crumbled papyrus.
I will search for you
till the ink fades on it
till my senses fail me.
And,
I hope,
it will keep on raining
till then…