Broken hands

Don’t you believe, we

are stuck in this room.

You have a red box

at the corner,

and I have a blue one

on the other side.

We meet once in a while,

to talk about our sorrowful life

and shames, in disguise.

Our hands, worn out

wrists too brittle now

even our eyes don’t meet.

What have we done to ourselves!!

Was it, from this fight,

the truth,

we were trying to deceit?

Once, we promised

to carry each other

towards the light, until

we both fall down to sleep.

But, these shadows,

account for our stifling love,

and this empty room has

left no place for us to breathe.

The light,

we found at the horizon,


our sinking ships,

across the bottomless sea.

Still, we are stuck,

like the starry night sky


outside this window, only

not to be revealed.

So, why trouble these

broken hands?

Why don’t we both

fall down to sleep!!

Why don’t we overlay

our crumbling dreams

with the memories

of what’s unforeseen.

This room will never be


nor will our eyes,

with what we have seen.

Maybe our hands will keep on


until we find no reason to

meet in this room,

which was once filled with dreams.


6 thoughts on “Broken hands

  1. Maybe they want to stay stuck in the room; finding a strange comfort, a needed relief in their subconscience of the hurting and the fighting. And the dreams that once filled the room is what has them rooted where they are.

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