Presence of the Past

It wasn’t hatred I felt just now
I don’t know if there exist a word
Sufficient to describe what lies in the subterranean depth of me

It’s partly revulsion,
Awareness of the physical space,
Ironically, a form of acceptance of the past

It’s confusion, really
Why is he stil here despite his misdeeds
Why hasn’t anyone done anything till now
I’m not asking the world to change for me
I simply want his absence in my presence,
For the exchange having a piece of my past.

Get him out of my sight
My stomach revolt with pure disgust
But instead, I gave out a reluctant smile in his presence

He looked and said hi without scruples or remorse
There is nothing to forgive
It isn’t forgivesness that sets you free
Because one will never forgive nor be set free

We are the slave of our memories.