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