Black

Bundled up bed sheets,
quilt collapsed from the bed,
an opaque silence
and some black,
waiting to be a shade lighter.

Black asks,
“Do the specks of light matter,
the silver lining?”

The union of all,
or sans any,
does not shrink
the expanding space in my room.

Expanding space to fill
empty bottles
like
lonely 2 AM thoughts.

Empty bottles do not
make me whole,
or spill themselves to fill me.
No, they just drain me,
like themselves.

The way, loneliness
is not the lack of love,
rather the lack of
belonging.

-Taru Gupta


For the past week, I haven’t felt even one bit creative. It’s not even writers block, I don’t know what it is. However, I was scrolling through my notes and found a half-written poem on the colour black.

Black is not sad, it’s poetic.

Love,
Taru.

6 thoughts on “Black

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