His Parents Were Too Late To Be Sorry

Posted by Smriti Choudhary
April 27, 2017

Self-Published

They were too late to be sorry.

He lies on the pool of his own blood

His face, ashen, his body, still.

His mind, colourless.

Once upon a time, red was just a colour

He used to paint flowers with

Once upon a time, red was just a colour

His teacher gave him a zero with

Once upon a time, red was just a colour.

 

They were too late to be sorry

And here he is, bleeding wrist

And a heart which stopped beating

He lies among blank canvases

Which could have been turned into masterpieces

Just like the life he lived

A blank white canvas

Waiting to be painted upon

But torn apart instead

 

They were too late to be sorry

There he is, eyes closed forever

Maybe, open in some other dimension

Where his passion is not inhibition

Where his art does not get lost in mathematics

Where his tears don’t fall on stone hearts

Where his parents are not too late

Some other dimension, where he probably is alive

Not solving equations

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