Made by Swati Singh

My cellphone,
Hasn’t buzzed in ages.
You have no reason to text or call.
You said we’d keep in touch,
Our emails would last pages.
“The communication wouldn’t ever fall.”

How was I to know,
When truth sparkled in your eyes.
I missed the sounds escaping you,
And how they told such lies.

How was I to know your words,
Were for a purpose spoken
And that to you, your promises
Were meant to be broken.

My phone waits,
To notify.
Of what I have lost.
You, are across the Atlantic,
And never told me when you crossed .

The world is but a stage, my dear.
And here we play our parts.
You move on and with you,
Take away my heart of hearts.

I try to discard your changes,
Like an over used application.
Clearing it out of memory,
For the sake of simplification.

Jilted lovers are so cliché.
I’d rather be the one,
To move on, yet here I stay.
I haven’t yet begun.

To sob as yet.
Is it the shock-
Of knowing we’re no more,
That I’m another digit added,
To your dated, high score?

The world is but a game, my dear.
And you played with my heart
I may have lost but don’t you think
It tore me apart.

I hear your voice talking of,
Trials we couldn’t beat.
I play it in my head,
It loops on repeat.

Then, my cellphone buzzes
and at last,
I press,

Swati Singh

Swati Singh

Scattered Sentences


Some people are like assortments within themselves. Swati Singh is one of those people. Caught between precision and presentation, she is often found either striking a fine balance between the two, or attempting to hibernate under a rock. She is a blogger who rarely blogs, an artist who hardly draws and a debater who attempts to wriggle out of most arguments. For the most part , her talents lie dormant as she procrastinates with a single minded lack of determination shared only by her cat, but in her rare moments of clarity, she is likely to impress you with her fierce speeches, witty comebacks and her commendable ability to quote Emily Dickinson and text entirely in rhyme.

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