Blog Post About This Poem
Oh’ my trembling hands can’t write,
Anymore about life,
And at a pause life remains,
In a moment of feeling, perplexed.
My pen for the memories I leave,
O I have none at all worthwhile,
All wonderful magic of life’s mirages.
Life is just like the weather,
Confused between winter and spring,
As the calendar says,
Or is it really the other way around?
Just darkness inside my mind fills,
When brightness and warmth fills outside.
And leaves unloved heart like a black hole,
Where every other feeling dissolves and disappear,
Into a feeling once I wished with me you shared.
When life takes a retrograde,
Oh’ thoughts too through a prism of negative perceives,
Though meant to you, those thoughts in soliloquy spoke,
“Glad you must be for not sharing,
The misfortunes of an unfortunate lover,
Never drain that brain in thoughts of this lover,
Oh after all love indeed is just another emotion.”
Such where the thoughts of a lost lover,
So much was the passion kept inside for her,
Oh’ everywhere when turned to move ahead,
“Dead End” written literally and most of the time virtually,
Only one way the way that passed.
Then a thought came to mind,
Should I walk backwards through every steps I made,
Or turn around and through the same paths walk,
But in a new way away from those footsteps,
Never properly made, mostly fell by my own stupidity?
Then conscience protested “Loving her is no stupidity,
She is worth loving in any era and lucky you are,
For the brief time she spent reading you”.
What she gathered and what she accepted a mystery,
As conscience swirled around inside like a caged bird,
Ah’ collages of a future life filled with love all blurry seen,
Like mirages that changed with every move I made.
As the touch of love caressed every bit of air that touched,
And the feeling of love itself took another step, knowing,
There are no more definitions of love this man can make,
As she in her completes the romantic feeling felt,
Felt in the teen days when fear, excitement and love all blended,
Again and again through youthful days and the adulthood crisis,
Now sprouting slowly but steadily to absolute perfection…
Ah’ the flutter in her heart from far Oh’ so wonderfully felt.
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