Her

Shakespeare once wrote a play that he couldn’t name. Ultimately, he went with ‘As You Like It’, leaving his audience to name and interpret what they saw the way the saw fit.

Now, yours truly is humble enough to recognise he’s no Shakespeare, or even comes close. But he was in a quandary quite similar with this post.

Let me know if you like the name, and, of course, the poem itself. It is something very different from what I usually write, and she who I’ve to thank for this will know how grateful I am to her.

 

Her

Sweet nothings that she spoke,

Endless rivers that she cried,

Among summer and the light it brings,

In the rains with its endless nights,

And when winter came, and brought snow,

Oh how it was in front of the fire!

And the year ended, simply,

Flipped a page, and all history eroded,

How frequently we illude ourselves,

Evil things, these calendars!

Smiles, He, at His own joke,

Gave us life that extinguishes,

And memories that don’t fade,

For still in some haunted corner of me,

Dance away to some exotic music,

Hips that sway like a moonlit tide,

And hair that wave about wild,

Shutting away the sun, for good,

Leave me breathless, choking,

And wanting all that more.

Don’t merge into morning, like night,

The stories that were born in it,

The angst, the chase, the panting,

Ceaseless pursuit, the eventual submission,

The achievement in giving all away,

The victory had with the sweetest defeat,

Oh how did those eyes glitter,

Oh how did that laughter resonate,

Oh how the stars and the moon and the night swooned,

Oh how I wanted the dawn to keep away.

Seasons pass over, and the wind changes its dances,

Fortune moves about in ways, through days,

And after all that has passed, we seek to live it again,

Over and over, living, the same nothingness,

Drown again in those eyes, squeeze dry those lips,

Measure, as if to reassure our deepest fears,

Legs that begin now and seek Eternity,

Touch, an infinite more times, to feel once,

That which we know is not.

I stand now in such a desert,

Where harsh the wind blows, and fast,

And I hear her call, from far,

Or from within, I know not,

But the journey’s long,

And I know not which way she lives,

So the wandering continues, so the road goes on,

For, having danced once to its tune,

The heart seeks Her, the divine melody.


Your thoughts, your criticism, your feedback – all are very welcome. They help me know if what I’ve written resonates with you. Please consider leaving a comment below and telling me how this piece made you feel.

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Blessed is the woman who inspired this; cursed is the woman who walked away.

    Like

  2. Akansha says:

    This one is great Abhi. Wonder who have you dedicated this to…
    Like i’ve always said, you should write a book and that feeling is more stronger than ever now…

    Like

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