Adrian

 

Adrian was sick.

A century passed

And her sickness still remains a riddle.

The coffee is cold now

Books yellowed

All ships sailed

The pale food still untouched

Voices still unheard.

And, she still lives to be a memory

She rambled on the grass

While her lover admired.

No one knew, the rain and the sailors 

brought to her tons of sickness every year.

On her death bed when 

All the broken marriages asked her to stay-

She said she had learnt leaving from them.

Both love and doctor failed teribbly

to cure her.

She sailed away to live.

I hear her every morning, when her unheard voices

peeps through her window.

We talk about her sickness. 

We talk about her sailing away.

She said she will return when sadness dies.