Chiamaka

By Adeiza Atureta

The cold whisper of our love has died,
And yet, we boast of memories,

that bring back nothing,

but endless pain.


Somehow, we loved;
And somehow,

we hated in our back and forth.

 

There is no gain in our love.

And our imaginations of 'forever' burns reluctantly.

 

Tonight, is no different,

We cannot accept the impossible.

 

I die, you die;
Our feelings will never again lie.

©2020 by Variant Literature Inc.