Unknown Writer 

It was time to lock the house up

And set it free.

He said he could no longer 

Bear the way the writer would make a drink

Emotions being spilled from the top of the glass

Love, hatred

Attachment, detachment 

Leaving, letting go

An unbalanced taste.

He said he could no longer 

Look at the pole across the road

Trying to add their own chorus 

To a song that would sing itself.

He told the writer that

They could stay together, but

Without the overflowing drinks 

Without a song.

A poem without a picture,

A glass without the drink 

Were packed by the writer.

It was time to bottle up 

It was time to lock the house up

The house that never had a door.

Kritika Vashist

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