The Science of Forgetting

Slowly, I’ve slipped out of my mind,
how your ringtone sounds.
I’ve edited your name.
So, it’s not easy to find.
I tried deleting it at first,
but the elongated ridges in my brain,
on the floor of each lateral ventricle of my hippocampus
seems to know your number by heart.
Tiptoed past the memories,
Gotten past without allowing neurons to connect,
& now only the synapses must forget.
The taste of your kiss, after bun maska,
the late morning cuddle before the hustle
The scent of your breath enveloping mine
Silently mastering tactile conversations.
Blocking, stalking, and ghosting seem to have their own parlance,
It’s true, misplaced dalliances are not easily erased.
If this was a lab experiment,
It would take a beaker full of memories,
Gathered after being strewn,
Like disobedient children in a playground
Forcibly put away like toys, at dusk.
A few drops of oxytocin overwritten with traces of approaching amnesia,
Carelessly mixed at minus zero,
Into ice cube trays frozen in the attic of Forevers.
Till the feverish breath
Of your name glistening like raindrops
On the window, peeping into the sea of my sinking heart,
Comes knocking on my anagram cells!
Who want to protest,
But they have no clue what about.
A cocktail of cumbersome constituents & muddled misgivings
Frothing in an effervescent Petri dish,
Lies in an irreversible unsaturated solution.