Death is the only
certainty in our lives.

I repeat that to myself
whenever I see your imprints.

a coffee stain on white linen;
granola crumbs between sofa’s limbs;
unwashed shoes on the floor,
both lying in perfect asymmetry;

and a coffin.
Even the smell of wood
reminds me of you,
and suddenly I want you back.

There now grows a tree
over your absence.
Its green leaves,
like a feast to a pauper,
but bears no flowers
for the lover; no fruit.

What is life, if not
walking down an
overly lit aisle?
What is death, if not
jumping into the abyss
at the end of that aisle?
with no intersection.

-Taru Gupta

This is my seventh poem for the project,’What’s in a name?’, that celebrates the existence of poetry in daily objects. This idea sprung some months ago, that death is the only certainty, which I developed into a full poem about life and death in general in the past five minutes. Since this was not an account of my personal life, I might have just failed miserably trying to translate my broken thoughts into a broken poem. It simply made me retrospect for five minutes.

However, if you did enjoy reading this poem, please do like, comment, follow and share it. I apprecaite any feedback in the comment section or my Instagram DM’s (CLICK HERE)

Love,
Taru.

My lover’s coffin by Taru Gupta is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.