Prompt scribbling!!

 

Why people call for comfort

when someone break their heart, like a deep bloody cut?

I know love is salt and pepper, sprinkled as per taste

but isn't it the only thing that keeps us unhinged!

My 5 year versioned child

would happily run for a ride on scooter

be it nearby lanes or a whole round on the farm.

It will never be a burden, a guilt trip,

not to call for help, and still mending raw chapters

as milky, with sugar and flavors.

I have seen birds beyond boundaries,

to feed for their little halves, partly by partly, collecting each chunks of love.

Isn't it the same balm to lessen the same pain,

layered on untold talks and care?

Love is ill-famed, unnecessarily.

What if you sleep on my lap, perplexed at moony beach?

Will I be able to put an end to your feelings,

even though I know I care, you care!

Isn't it the same ticklish butterflies, over and over again

on the same day, a day later, or a life later?

I frame you in words, today!

What if you come on my death anniversary,

to collect all my letters, smoky seasoned,

just to question my wholeness?

I might say

"Hey! I am still here, afterlife,

picking your leftovers and afterglows,

reminding you, not to hate love,

or just love this hatred.."

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