Streaks

I plastered some clay
Onto the shiny white wall
Where mirrors fought, to adorn.

The fingers traced five streaks
Random.

I found the line that led from me to you,
And retraced that path, you never found,
Despite all the landmarks, I duly shared.
And I fingered the dried up line
That grew parched, in the dearth of our love.
I winced at the broken line,
Where I found no print other than mine,
And finally, I traced my way back-
In hope, of renaissance of sorts.

And I reached, not the first streak-
But a dead end,
Where the smudge of mud,
Broke off-

And I watched it

F
a
L
L.

I couldn't have given up, could I?
No, I couldn't-
We were at stake,
Don't you see?

And so I grabbed a fistful of clay,
Once again.