#92 Lullaby for a cat

A lingering conversation even after she had left,
The moon tilted to the side some more
Heavy stale air, a lot of random thoughts,
It was an hour I had not seen before.

There is a high wall outside my window,
A thin shadow falls and then rescues itself
Quick flick movement, a few hurried steps,
The cat runs over once more.

On my desk is a portrait, one yellowed from Tirap.
Only an earring visible, and a few strands of hair,
Desperately trying to hide a watch that no one wears anymore;
Slight spots on my memory, are they bidding goodbyes?

But next to another window is a deep sigh,
Things have become calm, but where’s the feeling gone?
It all is in the eyes, but hidden in plain sight,
A few Instagram posts, to prove that she is still breathing.

The artist still draws her favourite fish again, crying yet,
Why is everything so painful, scared to ask someone else.
There’s her phone on her bed too, but too far to dial
His number that she couldn’t forget, more painful than his face.

The pair talk to an emptiness, a vague understanding,
No one will come around this time. Why?
It’s over. It always was, from the start.
A Capricorn, and a Libra? Oh, please, a match for Purgatory.

But the cat stops in its steps this time,
Not believing such machinations as frail humans do.
Knowing there’s warmth in her sketched lines and his written ones,
They’ll never see true feelings one more time, but they know it too.