When love is Empty

The clock is at its bad hour

Paintings of white 

piled up and

unkemptly decorated.

all the empty cups of coffee

gets refilled with dilemma 

haunting and scary

my muse now talks

And i can't paint colours.

the burning sights

Took away the smell

And there is no urge to recall our last kiss

I have heard the girl next door

Scream silently in pain-

What if it is contagious?

They say- There is nothing to worry abaout

The clock is just at its bad hour

The muse shall be silent again

I will fall in love again

And keep the canvas white and empty.