There was something in the moment I could not discern
I was just another pawn in the moment’s urn
Love was a far-fetched canvas and we could not come together, alas!
He failed to understand that it was a solemn strokes’ feather
I yearn’d for his touch, and I pin’d for the clock of time
to move in our direction, but the clockwise rhyme
of the seconds and the minutes etched at every instant
the pain for his yearning in my soul –
The only constant
Some love stories are meant to be perfect, but
Not mine. The ripples of his seething censure made
my heart dip into an ever crippling melancholy.
I still can’t purge myself of my sheer