Torn Words

The wheat crop in its fancy
The half bloomed mustard
And some foot marks on the wet sand
Crossing paths at a small puddle
Where lay the torn words
Of love
The very hands which weaved them together
Cut them into pieces
And threw them on the stagnant water:
To seep into the sand
To be part of the land
Where love grew
And stayed..

(Jupinderjit Singh)