August Twenty-eighth


On August twenty eighth,
You were gleeful as if we just met.
But it was the day, when we separated our ways.
No gloom, no sign of sorrow on your face...

It's alright, you're not bound to love me anymore
Isn't this exactly what you said on the phone?
Hate it that I got butterflies on picking your call,
Couldn't have guessed: it was to casually end it all.

You love me only when you have time,
How can you even consider your actions right?
On the floor, I was a shattered vase,
And you were there, with the baseball bat.

People have a knack for making situations worse:
Just like you and me, when we decided to curse
Hatred- crawling on my neck,
The night I bet you won't be able to forget!

It's alright, you're not bound to remember me anymore
This is what I am saying to you in this poem
Hate it that I got butterflies on picking your call,
Couldn't have guessed: it was to casually end it all.

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