Life Itself

It was unsaid He was gone [Last night he was here And things seemed alright But happiness doesn’t last It vanished with the night] She cried They cried not together Each to his own [ He was the man of the house And now they felt unprotected, Forlorn] She was crossing by their room And heard a muffled cry It broke her heart But she only sighed [Personal pain Weighs far more] Walked past the door Walked past her child Guilt glistened in her eyes Nothing more to say [Thought: he was selfish Leaving them alone] It breaks her heart He just comes and goes Just when they move on The past knocks at their door [it a sad painting together yet lonesome] Last night He came on impulse Took them to dinner Leaving her at home [She brings them up He takes them away The pain is hers The pleasure all his] She glances at her driveway Sees him walking away And he looks back His tear stricken face [Both with tears Weeping all alone] ...

I tip-toe down the stairs, trying hard to remain silent. Like every Friday, the house is enveloped in a wisp of chocolate air. I slide into the kitchen, she's standing near the sink. Hair smudged in flour, hands covered in sugar, busily mixing ingredients. I kiss her cheek without expectations. I tell her I am leaving, pick up my bag, and hurriedly say goodbye. I sit in my bus and close my eyes. I recollect Fridays gone by and each has only one thing in common, Chocolate. It's been twenty years now since her first chocolate. She was baking for him, with very little time, she cooked in her red chiffon dress. Even today she sits by the window chocolate by her side waiting for a man, long gone. and like her first mourning the chocolate is thrown away, uneaten.