The Last Encounter Poem by Atri Mazumder

"And I
Am the arrow
The dew that flies.
Suicidal…"

- Sylvia Plath

You knew the stranger was always waiting outside,
You knew he was never going to leave;
What did you want then?
To go out and embrace him?
Or to remain to yourself?
Were you afraid?
Did you think it is too early or perhaps a bit late?

Did you look through the keyhole?
Was it still an illusion?
Did you try to restrain yourself?
Felt the tears welling up?
Or were you tempted?
Was it just as you had expected?
What did you see - in that last look at the mirror?

I never told you back then,
But I knew you would meet him;
You wouldn't make him wait:
Not to defy, but to reconcile.
Was it as you had imagined?
Or like you had always wanted?
Was it all real or did you still pretend?