Sunday Poem: Inset
This book of love poems is not mine
Page 57 line 15 still blames me for abandoning my
Desire for you in favour of unattainable love
The feather marking the agony-parched
Words is dusty, belongs to a migratory species
That bird must have covered a whole lot of
Distance and a lonely sky!
I sometimes caress the margins for lost memories
Your love for poetry does not echo anymore
Inside my empty ribs, filled only with songs
And a silence devoted to my living
One’s own shadow dictates the sadness of a hazy past
I had left you then with reluctant
Footsteps riding tensile hunger of unfulfillment
You did not utter a word
This book of love poems now vomit all such words and emotion
Overpowering my distance
The dedication is all
About living, never ascribed to our love,
Love cannot be death of desire foretold
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