Those flawless and symmetric sides of mine,

With their exact angle and length all set to an equilibrium.

Present a beautiful picture of success, peace, and harmony,

To the outside world, hiding the truths within.

The placid water of a shrub-lined pond,

Reflecting the picture of a small cottage.

Which a friend would have let me live,

Away from people at the forest’s edge.

It took courage to open that black box,

Which had not been opened for a decade.

It was time to face the objects in it,

As I believed that they were long dead.

There is some magic in the air,

Nights are clement and mornings, fair.

Hoodies and gilets are stowed,

Tees and cashmere are again remembered.

You insisted that that was not a sin,

Wore that extra toe ring as proof of your acceptance.

Our secret betrothal was enough to clear our guilt,

And accept it as our parallel life and not as a happenstance.

How feelings got across then,

Silently, without a word being told?

Now many words died untold,

When the relationship became old.

One sky looks brighter than the others,

Soon will be brightening up the lawn outside.

My room is still dark and dishevelled,

Like the heart and mind inside.

As the day closed, darkness deepened,

And the lights on the roads got brighter.

Some places remained dark, and lights were kept low,

Voices remained hushed; hearts started beating faster.

A familiar feeling in the air wafted into my being,

That memory of the season of the leaves falling.

The coolish winter was silently receding,

The summer, building up its harshness, was raring.