The Last Whistle

It was a long winter night here
I’m arriving home ,with the wild wind
breaking those venetian blinds
belgium mirrors and dark rooms
Drowned in the snow,wet with dews
forest shivered,bare and naked ..
Stirred by the dying breath of leaves,
Trees waited worst testament of storm
i have been wishing all the way
Without a choice or compromise
Whether i breathe him or
meet him at the grave..
Every beating of my heart
Played a rhythm of secret
through my nerves and veins
Intensely desiring him
In unhappy hours of this journey
No storm could beat me
as those memories did
No hurricanes could toss me
as those words he filled me with..
Would you forgive me again
seeking those days left behind..?
It was an unnatural beginning
And waiting to sum up naturally..
A promise that swift past me long back
Last train stopped in the midnight
through the mist and meadows
My eyes haunted for the sweet vision
Only once before the last whistle..
When the footsteps approached
Its his arms take hold of me now
Now i’d burn myself in the fire
And breathe in closing lips.

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Rekha Moothedath

I'm a teacher by profession, hailing from Calicut, south-west coast of India. I was brought up in a huge joint family, a home in lush greenery and a mile away from the sea shore. Being married to a defense personnel, has enabled me to travel widely within India and once made me write a poem on the great Andaman islands. I did my post graduation in History and I do research papers and have published a paper on medieval Indian feudal society, in the International History Congress. Sometime in the late nineties initiating a life time love with Latin American poetry I mustered up all my passions in writing. Though my head fought battles and spoke peace, poetry was always a deeply embedded part of my soul and I was enamored of her beauty and traveled through the emotions of tempest and silence and overcame the desolation.

8 thoughts on “The Last Whistle

Leave a Reply