Window- Curtain
When the night is about to die, and I'm not ready to face the sun yet, I make you the curtains of my window. Some days you're yellow, some days you're black. I don't paint you anything, you just take the colour I need that day.
If on one of those days sleep flows down my eyes running towards a mouth thirsty to drink oceans or dropping on the draught pillows of dreams, you paint yourself a dark black, block all that's bothering me, let me lie on your soothing shadow.
On days when I don't feel like waking up, but you know the day is bright outside, and you bring the day into my room, you become a fragile yellow chikankari parda.
And then there are days, when you don't exist. I miss you, I search for you, but you know, I don't need you. I need to get up and go to work. You know that. And on those days, only on those days I feel like I should keep the window close.
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