A Walk

Palak Chadha 

The Dusk Sky had printed herself
crimson,
and clouds seemed to harden,
break her up for me.
I gather the pieces,
broken and shattered;
I gather parts of me.

A Breeze, cool, caressing
at leisure it strolls.
I breathe it in,
lending air to the pain
letting it thrive while
wanting it to die.

I see,
mistakes bygone,
still reeking of guilt,
regret, telling a tale of
a heart so weak like

sand, white,warm
that slides through me.
It smiles silently as I
try hard to hold,
fasten my grip.
It doesn't respect my will:

Away all it seeps.