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Posts Tagged ‘lost love’

 Tell me a story 

Where we last

We don’t hold on 

With fragile threads .

Tell me a story 

Where we don’t end up 

Hurting each other 

In our egoistic ways. 

Tell me a story 

Where you love me 

And I don’t have to resort 

In a hopeless delusion of love. 

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I hope you fall in love someday . So much that your day starts with her and your nights end with her. So much that every breath of yours is in her name. Every beat of your heart beats for her. Every drop of your blood bleeds for her and every tear of yours pines for her. I hope you fall in love entirely. I hope you fall in love like me. 

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Sometimes, I wish I was pretty… And by pretty I mean very pretty, pretty enough for the love of my life to stare at me, with tireless eyes for hours and hours. 

Sometimes, I wish I was sweet, sweet enough to chit chat with coating every reality in candies. So much that my lover would wish to spend days and days with me. 

Sometimes I wish I was brainy, brainy enough to know everything that he likes, brainy enough to know his world. And then probably he would be more interested in talking with me. 

But most of the times I wonder… Would that actually be me… 

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Tell me then

Did it matter?

When I held your palm,

For the first time,

Caressed your skin against mine.

 

When I pushed my heart against yours,

Felt your warmth against mine,

Did it matter

When I kissed you

And pledge to hold strong for good.

 

Do my tears matter,

Or do my words.

Is everything that I say just a lie?

Does it matter if I’m hurt.

Or pretending a smile.

Tell me now,

Does it matter if I stay?

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Remember the evening,

5th of October,

We watched the sun

Set by the waves.

And as the ocean stroke

Against the infinite horizon,

An enigmatic music echoed,

Began my new poetry.

 

Another month later,

By the snowy pines,

We watched the snowflakes

Rosettes and dendrites.

And as the leaves stroke,

Your hand brushed against mine,

I fumbled words

As you smiled.

 

And from winter came spring,

Breathing lives

To the sleepy and snowed,

I heard the music loud and clear,

And of my poem,

Three verses were near.

 

Then last night

I wrote one too,

By your bed side,

Watching you sleep,

As I silently whispered,

My confessions unheard.

 

Now I stand,

With tear drops

Under the rain.

With the clutter ended

My music abrupt.

But did my poetry?

 

And by your grave,

With my confessions unheard,

You still remain

My incomplete poetry.

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