The Memoirs of The Forlorn Lady living down below.

October 7th,
Its been three hours now,
Since you’ve  given that necklace to me,
And I let go of you,
I Don’t  know how.

November 11th,
The Cold of the Winter makes your necklace stick upon my chest,
Like an electromagnet,
It leaves the rest.

December 20th,
Your necklace shows traces of red,
It is rusting away,
Just like my heart,
Slowly spreading to each part.

January 23rd,
It is coloured in red,
Coated with Crimson,
Rust.

February 3rd,
A thousand years,
Or so it seems,
The Winter- sun upon me it gleams,
I wait for the Clouds to clear,
As I Slowly fade away,
Into  A Slumber of sorts,
With a necklace, in my fists.
-Anirudh Shankaran.

Photographer – Aarthi Shankaran.

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