Sometimes we chew each other to pieces
And go home with the scraps.
I got my share of scraps, when
I argued with you, my best friend.
The words that come to us are not chosen.
It all started on a trifle which grew,
as big as a heap of garbage,
as we threw each other rubbish.
The heat of our argument, I think,
could melt all snow in Siberia.
Back home, I stared at the carpet,
as though some loved one
is buried beneath the floorboards.
It was silent, except for the sounds-
of guilt that echoed in my heart.
I saw your red face instead of my pale one,
when I looked at the bedroom mirror.
Words are sharper than a two edged sword.
When I meet you the next time, I’ll say-
“Sorry, my dear friend…..”