The Aftertaste | A Poem by Gaurika Singh

Underneath the bewitching morning sky,
I grow fond, and fonder still,
Of you and your precious twinkling eyes.
Summer evenings hugged us with their merry warmth,
The blossoms warned me of your deceitful, illusory form.
I paid no heed to the warnings which seemed so frugal, so baseless.
I convinced myself, they don�t know you like I do, nobody knows you, like I do.
But you knew her, oh so well, and she knew you, so perfectly well.
Your smiles suddenly turned dry,
your laughter seemed force,
I always dreaded that you might someday derive your happiness from a different source.
But it�s not due to some quality that I lack,
It�s all you. Your treachery. Your betrayal.
But the desolation fills me.
The desolation lures me.
The unending suffering for your sins, is faced by me, and me alone.
And now my heart grows fond,
and fonder still,
Of poison.
Poison � inspired in my veins, by the thoughts of you.
I seek vengeance my old friend, vengeance for my soul,
that you very unkindly stole.
I bid you honey, make no haste,
Ill make sure it�s deeply engraved in you, the exceedingly bitter aftertaste.


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