Dearest, remember last December night
when a forlorn star fell from the sky?
And even as it beautifully burned,
it left a trail of ashes behind.
You followed the star as it faded from sight
and I followed a tear that rolled down your eye.
Dearest, I had so much to tell you then
but my words were lost in that view
where the star had fallen and died
and I, too, fell and died for you.
a passing fantasy
inspiring my poetic blues,
chief prophet of arts
teaching muses how to muse.
Dear faraway reader,
time and again have I pictured you
scrolling by my woeful words
your graceful fingers pausing for a while
your eyes lingering over the lines
a random smile painting your face.
And I have also pictured you
roughly scrolling by
sighing with disappointment
because it wasn’t my poem you were longing for Continue reading
If indeed I were to write,
I’d write for you alone
but alack, it isn’t easy,
because dearest, neither are you.
You’re nothing like the lark,
or the rose or moon or summer’s day.
And comparing you would be Continue reading
Oft have I thought of you, dearest
and oft, dearest, have I felt
a wave of melancholy sweep over me.
Because you are everything I am not.
You are as lively as life,
I am duller than the sky bereft of sun. Continue reading
Together, they drowned
underneath the high seas
And together yet perished
with thirst in dry sands
Longing for drops in dearth
and dearth in drops
They took their miserable affair