I feel not like meeting you - III
I once wished your praises to pen
O in our exclusive love den,
But most of such dreams—nine of ten,
Oh, buried were ere they began.
Poems are now bereft of words,
Our den, nestled by no more birds,
Before blossoming died have buds,
There’s no alibi to meet you.
I tried to distill me from me,
To filter my fair will from me,
And go uphill along with you,
Alas, it’s too late to meet you.
There’s darkness under a lamp
All undergrounds far too damp,
Now that I’m used to my camp,
It’s too late O to meet you.
I once wished brightness of Sun,
All shadows in life to shun,
From very Self I now run,
It’s too late O to meet you.
Flowers have lost old fragrance,
From steps hast gone usual dance,
Betwixt us two, no romance,
Far too late O to meet you.
I still carry old tuneless harp,
Old memories no longer sharp,
With life’s mixed-up woof and warp,
I wish no more to meet you.
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Inspired by a Gujarati Poem by Rishabh Mehta
Quatrains (rhyme and refrain) |06.03.2024| lost love
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