Dear Poetry, I know I am no poet of esteem,
I cannot write a poem the way it’s meant to be!
So let me tell you a story of growing up
instead – barren of rhetoric, of a bare me!
So I grew up by myself since my inception,
far below the wandering stars and on my own!
All I had as my sole company was this dream,
that one day the moon herself would let her be seen!
Any soul that’s been in love once at least can tell
how ruthless and cruel these moons can be, once they know
that a lover’s heart by love has been set aflame,
seeking it where the seeds of love had not been sowed.
Now imagine what it was like to be in love
throughout my entire life, for that’s how it had been,
me leaving no stones unturned for my twin soul
it felt like finding although, I was losing all!
The other day my muse asked whether I was hurt.
Though I wished, I could not open myself too wide!
How can I be hurt, if I’m in eternal pain?
Was I mad to be born with worms inside my brain?
That night, if gray memories do not cheat with me,
with sounds sweeter than raindrops falling from the sky,
she asked, if my eyes had grown full of mist, I laughed,
for though I bleed perpetually, I cannot cry!
No I cannot, even when deep inside I am certain,
that despite my loving care I am refused, yet again!