If I can put her face out of my sight,
should I be able to keep her out of my mind too?
Her memories, so often, haunt me still,
harrying my soul like a storm on some desert land,
desolation, that remembers the ancient green.
Though I have not seen her since that bleak hour
she was gone from my world, ten thousand years ago,
who could stop those millions of twinkling stars
from sketching her face on the canvas of the sky
at night or, during the day, the clouds from doing so!
Suppose, all the stars were dead and so were the clouds
and nothing remained in the universe to sketch
her forgotten face, would this haunting perish too?
Tell me, if you were blind could you have stopped loving yourself?