No visible cut to darn
Pain of missing yarn
Ever a hidden one
Wrinkles it flaunts how can I press
The line of smiles to suppress
To loosen the sleeves
Not enough material left inside
The pretty old shirt
Has outgrown my frame and size
Can not mend the past perfect
The highs and sighs
Kisses and embraces.
Each thread surfaces
Stories unsaid
Of dark nights and games affluent
lullabies for a dead dream’s bed
The prominent stains jot down
My trips to hell and heaven
The fading prints are witness
To my race under the stubborn sun
The Pocket still stores scent of stuff
With the heart beneath it shared once
The missing buttons at the time of need
Put the lost bets to rest indeed.
While trying to live I missed my life
So the shirt has lost to the time
To fit it to a misfitting me
A hanger in my closet I choose to be
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© ® Rashmi Mohapatra
Rashmi's Poetry Journal 