Vacant Longing

The sun doesn't shine the same. The stars don't twinkle alike. I sit by the window, gazing out, blankly. The wind doesn't gush anymore. The room is cold and empty. So is my heart. My face doesn't flush anymore. The dates on the calendar are crossed out. Who cares what day it is anyway. The table is set for two, but occupancy is low, so I chide myself away. The spaces between fingers never felt  so  apart  and  away. My arms never felt so meaningless and my heartbeat has lost the rhythm, I swear. The books are splattered around cause who do I narrate to. The piano collects dust. There is nobody to pluck the keys and swoon. I lay in the bed, the sleep lulls away from me. I wish you could realise that between every sentence I inked down, all I wanted to say was:

jāy-e shomā khālīst