POETRY

I Mourn the Sins…

You paint every now and then

Photo by Belov Sergey on Unsplash

Chandeliers, Clinking glasses, You were cursed by Cupid.

The moon took a seat on the windowsill, While the sun blazed just beneath my ears. The moment had come— We were about to lose ourselves, And everything turned into a photograph.

It appears in many folds, Showing the same moment In different neon colors. Now it has become a loop, And we are drowning— Not in the sin, But in the ones before, The ones we once laughed at hysterically.

We met in the darkest hour, Ran for eternity, Yet ended up there again— At the beginning, At the threshold, Searching for our chance, As the sound of our laughter returns.

As you said to me once in anguish,

That I am cursed with an ancestral spell, And I will mourn the sins— The sins I haven’t committed…

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