Hour 19


‘She turned to say it once again: Tomorrow’
It was the only promise they had but let me be thorough:
It was a promise in a world where tomorrow tomorrow was a lie
For a love struggling to die
In a world of crumpled desires and stolen memories
Where dust had gathered on ancients for centuries
And loved ones dragged along in deepest compassion
Tied to chains, sinking in the dirt of devotion
They made the mistake of wanting
The desire horrifyingly daunting
At dusk, each dusk, boundaries would slip away
And lovers would lay
On the ground of dying beetles and fallen leaves
The beetle, the leaves both outlived them; and witnessed the rivers grieve

The God of Small Things, Arundhati Roy 

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