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