the slow art of breathing bitter

And Like An Empty Teacup, You Threw Me Into The Trash

And like an empty teacup,

You threw me into the trash

Once you drank all of mine

Till the stars vanish,

and the new sunshine

Kisses your cheeks;

As you push me aside,

And find someone more stable—

You're done with your teatime.

And now, I feel like spitting out everything 

That I couldn't tell you—

Only to make you understand,

How it feels when you crumble 

your favorite paper plane

and throw it into the pond,

And make a new one for you.

It's been a long time since I cried

In the bathroom; the hot shower

Easing my thoughts that have strained my muscles.

I wish you could have felt the poetry

In brushing your fingers against the warm teacup;

You lost things that came to you naturally,

You crumbled hearts that fluttered your heart once,

You lost chances that came as the wind.

Yet, I love you dearly.

You lost me. I lost you.

A winless fight and a few blood stains.

We didn't lose the wind between us.

You don't hear me crying;

I can't see you regretting it in your basement.

So I breathe this air deep—

Smoke, or oxygen, I don't care.

That's the only thing we still share.

The heat of the bathroom walls

is driving me crazy; 

My head's insane in your sane thoughts.

I wish this hour would finish soon;

And the waste collector would recycle me—

A resurrected soul breathing fresh air,

Alone, facing the sky.

_______________________________________

A/N: This's my second poem dedicated to Kadambari Devi (Tagore's sister-in-law), loosely based on her suicidal thoughts, her thoughts before she committed suicide, and how she felt about Tagore's ignorance towards her after his marriage. May her soul rest in peace.