back to yellow

bone-cold and damp 

or hot and dry 

should be the road 

to my home ?

fresh and floral or

clenched and closed

should be the door if you

anyhow reach the home?

my eyes are routes,

my cheeks are home 

if you could ever turn 

this grey back to yellow.

i keep no curtains 

as my windows had

always been closed,

you once cut the bone,

rinsed my skullless 

soul and held me close,

but now i'm lingering 

to have you only in prose,

your this lost right 

would be restored,

our dancing feet

would feel the cold floor

if you could ever turn 

this grey back to yellow.

stop knocking at the 

door, do not fuel my 

fantasies anymore,

i want to press my breaths

too through the peephole,

but no, please start 

marching back to the town 

where you came from , 

the spirit of the spring 

is washed down in the

doldrums and downpours,

your spilled secret of 

the Sun and my darkened

star would meet again

if you could ever turn 

this grey back to yellow.

can you please turn 

this grey back to yellow?

or someday...

will you please?

- chetna 🌻