We divided sorrow into minute pieces
Buried some under the giant tree at the back,
Blew some into the vacant air
And burnt the rest—
what we thought was remaining.
But a few like some sticky weed
Had glued onto the hem of our clothes
And followed us back home
Though uninvited.
Stayed there unscathed
As long as they could.
But wounds unattended fester fast
And closed windows gather more dust—
Only when it stings or
The light seeps through the blinds
We may see them—
Those few pieces
Stayed though uninvited
Perhaps to keep our amputated hearts intact.
