Separation of Lovers
A story told in prose,
I did not see coming.
Within my chest
it feels like a hurricane.
I hear a gentle whisper
“Storm is about to rip your soul apart,
but don’t worry, we are safe in time.”
From here on,
your hand will not be in mine;
That wooden frame on your shelf-
will now bathe in disparate colors.
But I will carry you within,
and, too, accompanied with your nuances,
life will be a story with your narration.