Thursday, 5 April 2012


I have a sorrow of my own,
It comes prominently when I stay alone,
It gives a feeling of something I am loosing,
And I cannot determine what I am loosing,
This sorrow lights up inside,
This sorrow filters mind,
This sorrow gives impulse inside,
In multiple domains, and even
In loneliness I do not feel comfort.
Its strangeness flames the mild pain,
As if I am not in possession of something,
That needs more blooming like sweet pink rose,
To touch my heart and force to mingle with it,
Yet I cannot move and cannot even touch,
And in my solitude, in my busy moments,
In the secret mind, the sorrow lives violently,
And I cannot remove it anyway on my walking,

I do not know whether it is loss of love,
Or loss of demand, or loss of transformation,
Or loss of sensation, loss of unnoticed liking
Of the world that I have fathomed,
But I have failed to touch the very charms
And its season’s corner, yet I am alive to go forward. 

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