Mardigal of solitude…


Be no proud; lay no rose,

Ov’r the pages written by wraith,
Nude by thy sable garb woes;
In the brimes of sleepless nights i bathe.

I call to i; beget my words,
Let i write the ink of fine,
Scatt’rred smile of perjured lust;
On purpose laid to sweeten a whine.

On dreary love thee lie,
Far far aloof i sail,
Art of death; thee passes by,
Ghastly, oh thy blood pale.

I will ask not thou to behold,
Nor gaze upon me,
Stay i be, in the worst winter cold,
Thus my weep remember thee.

Charms of thy need i repine,
In silence of dreamless sleep,
Days of laughter, thought’d mine;
Worn beauties of fade i keep.

Things unborn, unwilling to explain;
Walked back in rain, from the saddest lane,
Thing that are gone, before the dawn;
Gravely love and grief shade of wane.

Slept to apprise the night,
All my found colour’d light
And fine love endears,
I thus abets to stay all rest years.

Photography : @sahilbhambri (me)

©reserved.

About

I write what i see, and feel what i breathe. Poetics is what i bathe in.

12 Comments

Leave a Comment

%d bloggers like this: