Poetry 2017 Longlist Ashutosh Khanduri

House of Love

In our perfect house of love,
broken windows tell a different tale.
Bits of us lying on the floor,
stones and few paper rolls.

The fumes of smoke of forgotten dreams,
the ceiling's black from dead fire beneath.
The picture on the wall looks pale,
our voyage ship that could never sail.
Our smiling faces in the masquerade,
a not so perfect charade.

The floor is messy and mirrors cracked,
but the halls still echo of your laugh.
Though the living room reeks of steel,
but the kitchen still got your scent sweet.
And it's the bedroom that haunts me most,
Mere thought of not having you before.

You took our promise and broke in half;
you said you would go last.
And now the chandeliers don't shine anymore.
And the chimes have lost their ring and sored.
And it's the bedroom that haunts me the most,
I need your touch but it's all cold.

You were right and I was wrong,
now I know but now you're gone.
I wish you could've stayed a bit long;
our album lacked that one last song.
And like the flame that dies without air.
Without you I've been dying every moment here.

Oh heavens, oh heavens oh high up above.
Raise my soul and take me afar.
Guide me through this path of grief,
so I could reach my favourite star indeed.

Because,
in our perfect house of love,
broken windows tell a different tale.
Bits of us lying on the floor,
ash and few wishes unrolled.